


Serial

by ApeUnit



Series: Judge Roebuck [2]
Category: Dredd (2012), Judge Dredd (Comics), Judge Dredd - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:11:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4470038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApeUnit/pseuds/ApeUnit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a string of prostitute killings appear linked, an overburdened Sector Chief appoints Judge Roebuck to solve the murders. This is a followup to the first Judge Roebuck story (JUDICIAL AFFAIRS). It takes place a few months later from the first installment. The story is set in the world of Dredd 3D with Karl Urban.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serial

SERIAL

 

Sector 288, 1 November

0232 hours:

            It was autumn; the cold rain fell on the city. Judge Frederick Roebuck stood above the woman’s body. He shined his flashlight on her lifeless corpse, to better illuminate it for the other Department personnel. The woman was on her back, a homeless man, in search of a place to sleep, discovered her body. The murder appeared to be quite savage; her face was nearly caved in by a heavy, blunt object. It was not even recognizable. The cheek and jaw bones were completely shattered, bits of flesh and muscle hung from where the facial features had once been. A few strands of flesh barely held onto the right ear, the left was detached and gone. The throat had been cut from left to right; the cuts were deep and bloody. Roebuck looked up at the three rookie Judges who were on patrol tonight as part of their field training.

“Call it rookie,” Roebuck said in a stern tone.

            All three of the rookies hesitated and looked at one another. They each had expected the other to answer.

“One of you rookies better call this,” Roebuck snapped.

            None of the rookies took the imitative to make the call. Roebuck turned to the rookie assigned to him and said,

“Rookie, call it.”

            Sofia Azarola was one of three rookie Judges on patrol that night. She was assigned to follow Roebuck as part of her field training. The other two had been dropped off by their Field Training Judges with Roebuck so they could observe the murder scene. He hated every minute he had to spend as a FTJ and every minute with Azarola. She was very attractive, with beautiful olive skin, jet black hair, and brown eyes. Many of the criminals she and Roebuck arrested attempted to flirt with her. Roebuck was always accusing Azarola of inviting the advances.      

“Female victim, I’d assume approximately late twenties,” Azarola started as she knelt beside the victim. “There is severe blunt force trauma to the face, as well as deep throat lacerations. From her clothing and appearance, I’d say she’s a prostitute. Sir.”

“Good rookie,” said Roebuck. “Now what do you make of these footprints.”

            Azarola looked inquisitive as she scanned bloody boot prints onto her lawscreen.

“The page is loading sir,” Azarola said. “Here it is. According to the computer files, these boot prints are to a pair of combat boots. The size indicates they belong to a woman. Obviously not our victim as she is wearing high heels. The boot size and pressure pattern indicate a woman of average height, athletic build, and sir, they are the pattern issued to Justice Department personnel. Could our killer be a Judge!?”

“That is a good place to start rookie,” Roebuck stated. “In fact our killer may have already returned to the scene of the crime.”

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t understand?” Azarola questioned.

“Check your boots rookie.”

            Azarola balanced herself, supported against the wall in the alley. She lifted her boot and noticed the bottoms were soaked with blood. The thought just occurred to her that she unknowingly walked through some blood that had pooled.

“And this, rookies, leads right into your lesson about crime scene contamination,” said Roebuck.

            Embarrassment overtook Azarola as her face turned red. Roebuck knew it was going to be long night, especially with Azarola at his side. By now the crime scene teks arrived to handle the body. They began to snap pictures of the corpse, scanned the area for any residual fingerprints, DNA. The teks practically pushed Roebuck and rookies out of the way as they took over.

“Alright rookies,” Roebuck spoke. “Call your FTJs and have them meet you. We’re going to be canvassing the area for witnesses. Get comfortable, we’ll be here awhile.”

            The other two rookies got on the communications units and called their FTJs. Azarola sat on her lawmaster next to Roebuck as sat on his and flipped through his lawscreen. The alley where the body laid provided some shelter from the rain, but the bikes were exposed. The cold rain poured on Roebuck and Azarola. It did little to affect Roebuck; his mind was on past events from the summer. He engaged in an illicit affair with the wife of a Mr. Kevin Holmes, against Department regulations. The affair started a series of events that spiraled out of control. The jealous husband ambushed Roebuck and a fellow Judge, Vernon Boone. The confrontation left Boone dead and Roebuck seriously wounded. Holmes also murdered his wife before he was shot and killed by Roebuck in a violent confrontation. Roebuck was left with an occasional sharp pain in his chest in the area he was shot.

            The rain fell; it felt as if it had intensified. Azarola shivered from the cold, her FTJ ignored her obvious discomfort. Roebuck grabbed at his chest; in the area he was wounded. The pain had once again returned. His rookie caught on to the fact that he was in pain.

“Are you alright sir?” Azarola asked innocently, concerned.

“It’s nothing rookie,” Roebuck snapped back at her.

“I just want to make sure you’re ok sir. If you want I can get one of the medics to come over and take a look.”

“Rookie! I said it’s nothing. Just drop the issue.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir. Sir, I would like to apologize about the crime scene. I was careless and I didn’t mean to contaminate the scene. If there is anything I can do to make up for it, please just tell me.”

“Well you fucked it up, what more can be said,” Roebuck answered. “Come on rookie, we have to go question uncooperative citizens about a murder they most likely didn’t see.”

           Roebuck and Azarola checked as many of the surrounding buildings as they could, but to no avail. No one they questioned heard anything or saw anybody flee the scene. Prostitution was common is this particularly impoverished part of Sector 288. The high unemployment coupled with the poverty left many with no alternative. It was not uncommon for the Judges to see attacks on prostitutes. Rival pimps often attacked girls that belonged to their completion, in order to secure more territory and interrupt business. So far it had only been minor altercations, a girl beaten here and there, the murder was different.

Roebuck was angered when he received a message from the Watch Commander. The Watch Commander, Zachary Eddington, did not trust Roebuck. Eddington and Roebuck disliked each other, and FTJ duty was one form of punishment. His message stated Roebuck would handle the investigation into the prostitute’s murder. Now he not only had to field train a rookie, but also to investigate a seemingly unsolvable murder. The citizen records of the Justice Department were good, but not perfect. If the system could find a match to the perpetrator’s DNA, then they could be identified and an arrest warrant issued. There were the cases in which the perpetrator was not on record. This complicated the investigation.

For three hours Roebuck felt like he walked in one circle after another. Not a single solid lead, not a witness, no suspect identification. He was angry at the time wasted and knew this was punishment from Eddington. The crime scene teks were unable to recover anything useful. The only DNA on the scene belonged to the victim. Not even Azarola’s accidental contamination harmed the scene. The trail was cold before it even started. With about a half hour left before the shift ended, Roebuck decided they should return to the Sector House. A preliminary report had to be written and he intended it be written by Azarola.

They pulled their lawmasters into the Sector House, past the gate in, and down to the underground garage. They parked their bikes and dismounted. The garage was massive underground warehouse directly below the Sector House. It housed spaces for the lawmasters of the Judges, as well as H-Wagons, surveillance vehicles, every special vehicle the Justice Department needs to maintain law and order in Sector 288.        

Roebuck and Azarola boarded the lift to take them from the garage, up into the Sector House. The first stop was the patrol floor where Azarola exited. When the lift advanced several more floors, Roebuck departed and made for the recreation lounge. His best friend, Rhett Marston, had also just finished his patrol and waited in the lounge. Roebuck stormed into the room, he took his jacket off and threw it onto a nearby chair. He was drenched from the rain that fell all night and shivered from the cold. It was clear that Roebuck was also in a bad mood. Marston was seated in a lounge chair; he turned to his disgruntled friend.

“Will you stop making a fucking scene and sit yourself down,” Marston spoke. “You’re behaving like a drama queen.”

“I’ve had enough shit for tonight,” Roebuck snapped as he sat down. “I don’t need any more from you.”

“Alright pal, just calm down. You’re amongst friends here.”

            The two Judges sat in chairs opposite each other, in between them was a small coffee table. Roebuck leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the coffee table. He pulled a small flask from an exterior pocket on his thigh. Before Marston could react, Roebuck opened the top and drank. The whiskey burned his insides as it flowed.

“What the hell are you doing Roe!?” Marston shouted as he grabbed the flask away. “You can’t drink that here. At the Sector House, are you insane!?”

“Do I look like someone who clearly gives a fuck?” said Roebuck. “Besides, I’m not even on duty.”

“Roe, I don’t care if you drink bud, hell you know I like to. But, I do it on my day off. I’m just trying to watch out for you. At least tell me you aren’t drinking on duty…are you?”

            Roebuck lurched forward and snatched the flask back from Marston. With a scowl at his friend, Roebuck took another swig. Marston had an answer to his question.

“What the fuck Roe!?” said Marston. “Look at yourself, what good are to us if you turn up drunk one day?”

“I have it under control, stop worrying so much,” said Roebuck.

“This is about her isn’t it? About everything that happened over the summer?”

            Roebuck thought about the events that happened a several months ago. He thought of Sarah. She weighed heavily on his mind.

“I can’t think of anything else Rhett,” Roebuck said in a more somber tone. “Every day I come into work I feel like I’m the one responsible for her death, for getting Boone killed as well.”

“I know, we’ve been over this,” Marston responded. “Stop tearing yourself up about this, it isn’t your fault. Her husband killed them, he shot you. And you stopped him before he could do anything to anyone else. He was unstable and thanks to you he’s no longer around to hurt anyone.”

            Roebuck sat silently, almost detached from the conversation as he stared past Marston at the window on the other side of the lounge. His mind was on the past and burdened with guilt. Marston could tell Roebuck was no longer paying attention. He knew his friend was torn up inside, but he recognized it could compromise his duty as a Judge. Other Judges fresh off the overnight shift entered the room. This indicated that the conversation was at its end for now. Roebuck and Marston both stood up to leave. They each had clerical paperwork to finish before they could go home from the Sector House. Marston turned to his friend and looked him square in the eye, to make his message direct.

“Listen Frederick,” Marston said in a firm voice. “You can mope around feeling sorry for yourself all day, it’ll cost you your job, and you may even face conspiracy charges for withholding evidence. Or you can un-fuck yourself and start acting like a Judge. Whatever your decision, make it by the time your next shift starts.”

 

***

 

Spencer Tracy Block, 11 November

0041 hours:

            The husband lay face down on the floor. Roebuck had his knee in the man’s back as he brought the wrists together and tightened the flex cuffs around them. The Azarola had her hands full with the wife. She flailed, kicked, scratched, as she tried to land another blow on her husband. It was a domestic disturbance that brought the two Judges to this address, a husband and wife argument that escalated to the point where the neighbors called the Justice Department. When Roebuck and Azarola pushed open the apartment’s door they found a battlefield. A disturbed wife charged her husband with a pair of scissors in hand, while he lobbed back at her, a small bronze sculpture. Roebuck immediately tackled the husband and ordered Azarola to disarm the wife.

“Rookie! Will you get that bitch under control!?” Roebuck screamed at Azarola.

“Yes sir, I am trying sir!” Azarola responded.

“Nobody calls my wife a bitch but me!” the husband yelled.

            The husband now became enraged and tossed. He tried to knock Roebuck off and to the ground. Roebuck acted quickly to put an end to the resistance. He laid his left forearm across the back of the husband’s neck. His right hand grabbed the lawgiver and he pressed the barrel to the man’s cheek.

“You will calm yourself down or I am adding a resisting charge,” Roebuck told the husband.

            The husband obeyed the command and stopped. Azarola brought the wife to the ground and was able to get her cuffed. The two Judges brought the suspects to their feet in order to pass judgment.

“This is your training rookie, call it,” Roebuck instructed.

“Two individuals in a fight, I’d say five years in the cubes each for assault,” Azarola determined.

“Rookie, they’re both married. This is a domestic assault, try again.”

“Well for domestic, we…determine the instigating party.”

“Alright rookie,” Roebuck said. He turned to the couple and asked, “Who started the fight?”

“She did! He did!” the husband and wife screamed simultaneously.

“Ok rookie, who started the fight?” Roebuck mockingly asked.

“I…I don’t know sir,” Azarola replied.

“Then pay attention. For domestic assault with mutual combatants it’s thirty days in the cubes with twelve months mandatory marriage counseling. Now read them the sentence while I call us wagon.”

            Azarola read the sentence to the husband and wife. Roebuck called for a pat wagon to pick up the prisoners. The dispatcher acknowledged the request and sent Roebuck another call. The Judges took their prisoners from the apartment to the lift. The long ride down from the upper floor was silent. The husband tired briefly to bump his wife, but Roebuck threw him into the side of the lift. It was quiet from then on. By the time they reached the bottom and walked to the street a pat wagon pulled up. It was only a block away, picking up vagrants. Roebuck threw the husband and wife in the pat wagon and slammed the door shut. He was glad to be rid of them. Now they had to proceed to the next call.

            Roebuck and Azarola pulled through a gate on their lawmasters, into a vacant lot where a small crowd had gathered. A long fence that stood about ten feet high surrounded the lot. The asphalt on the ground was cracked in every direction. There was trash everywhere that littered the area. It was heaped in piles while loose paper blew in the wind. The crowd stood around a body on the ground, clearly deceased. A few curious juves prodded the corpse with sticks, others just commented on the appearance. Roebuck blasted the siren on his lawmaster. The crowd took notice of the Judges’ arrival and quickly dispersed, but waited outside the entrance. The two Judges walked over to the body. Roebuck recognized her immediately as a prostitute. He had also arrested her on several occasions.

            The body was mutilated. It was more severe than Roebuck had ever encountered before. Azarola felt sick to her stomach, and almost vomited at the sight. Roebuck checked his lawscreen for the arrest report and found the victim’s name as well as photo identification. She was Vikki Eddows, early twenties, with a long record of prostitution arrests. Vikki had long red hair, just like Sarah. Her throat was cut, incisions were cut into her each of her cheeks, her nose was cutoff, her abdomen was cut open, her uterus and a kidney were removed and placed next to the body. The clothes she wore were torn away and left in tatters. The blood was everywhere, all around the body. Roebuck was unable to kneel down close enough to the body because of all the blood. Azarola had about all she could take. She walked a good distance from the body and immediately threw up. For once Roebuck did not snap at her for the unprofessional behavior. Something changed in him; he sympathized with her about what they saw.

            Roebuck got on the communications all called for additional units and the crime scene teks. The corpse bothered Roebuck, he was usually alright around the dead, but this seemed different. He felt all of a sudden unnerved by the body of the girl, torn open and mutilated. The girl’s hair made him think of Sarah, the woman he loved. The guilt started again. He noticed Azarola off in a corner of the lot. She was bent over with her hands on her knees as she vomited. Roebuck walked up to her and put his hand on her shoulder to balance as she stood up. He took a water canteen from his belt and handed it to her.

“Drink this Azarola, it’ll help,” Roebuck said as she drank. “Take a minute to catch your breath then go over to gate and keep the crowd out. I’ll stay by the body.”

“Sir, I’m fine,” Azarola replied. “If I’m going to make it as a Judge, I need to deal with these things.”

            Roebuck and Azarola returned to the body. They stood for what seemed like ages before the backup units arrived. It was a busy night for crime and the Judges were stretched thin. The crime scene teks assumed command. Much to Roebuck’s disgust, Eddington arrived on scene. Eddington went directly to Roebuck for a status report.

“Well it appears you are now investigating a second homicide of a prostitute,” Eddington said. “Do you have any leads, any suspects in custody!?”

“No sir the investigation is still ongoing,” Roebuck responded in an annoyed tone.

“Well why not? The killer is on the loose and you’re just standing here.”

“I am securing the crime scene as per your directive you sent out earlier this year. The one on the ‘importance of securing a crime scene from contamination’ being the top priority.”

“That directive does not apply to this situation at all. Because of your ineptitude, you’ve allowed the killer to escape.”

“And why does it not apply in this instance sir?”

            Eddington was at a loss for words. He realized that Roebuck followed proper procedure. However, he could not appear to lose face and so lashed out at Roebuck.

“How dare you talk back to me in this manner,” Eddington said. “I’ll have formal charges of insubordination filed against you. They’ll be on your permanent record by the end of the week!”

            After that, Eddington turned around and stormed off. Roebuck was unperturbed. He had grown accustomed to Eddington’s threats of administrative punishments. None yet had come to anything serious. Marston was one of the Judges that arrived on scene as a backup unit. He made his way over to Roebuck and the two conversed.

“So what do we got here Roe?” Marston asked.

“Female victim, early twenties, most likely a prostitute, severely mutilated,” Roebuck said.

“You got that homicide a several days ago. It was only a few streets over from here. Do you think they might be linked?”

“I’ll hold off that thought until I can get the ME’s report and the teks give me something. It does seem a bit excessive for a pimp trying to send a message. The body has been here for a few hours before I got the call, perp is probably long gone.”

“How’s the rookie enjoying the stiff?” Marston said as he turned toward Azarola. “She spew yet?”

“Leave Azarola alone!” Roebuck snapped. “She’s handling herself just fine.”

“Alright pal, calm down. How about I go interview some persons in that crowd, see if they saw anything.”

            Marston walked away toward the onlookers who gathered. He joined the other Judges on the scene that conducted interviews and canvassed for witnesses. Roebuck gave the murders some more thought. Both victims were prostitutes and murdered within a short distance of the other. They had also been mutilated although this recent one was more severe. The crime scene teks were hard at work as they checked the body and nearby area for any forensic evidence. If the victim put up a struggle she might have had traces of the attacker’s skin under her fingernails. The teks were surprised when they discovered the victim’s fingernails were absent. From the sight, it appeared that the murderer had painstakingly pulled them out. Whether it was to conceal evidence or as trophy was undetermined.

            Roebuck, Azarola, and the rest of the Judges interviewed as many individuals as they could. Other crimes and calls pulled the Judges away from the interviews until only Roebuck and Azarola remained. After a four hour canvass, they had nothing, no leads, and no suspects. Instead, they had individuals who denied involvement, others that gave accounts and none of the details matched. It was clear to Roebuck that the interviews were a waste of time and he decided to call it quits. It was dawn and the city started its day. The traffic increased on the streets, some were the lucky ones who had jobs and were on their way to work, the rest, who knows where they were headed. The shift ended as Roebuck impatiently waited for the meat wagon to collect the corpse, with Azarola at his side. After almost forty minutes past the end of the shift, the wagon arrived. The crew onboard lifted the body of Eddows onto a slab and placed her into the wagon. Roebuck grumbled about their tardiness. They explained a high call volume that delayed their arrival. The meat wagon crew slammed the doors and climbed into the cab. They gunned the motor and sped out of the lot. There was one more pickup they had to make before they could clock out for the day.

Roebuck and Azarola were alone in the lot. They mounted their bikes and headed for the Sector House. The scene was clear and there was no need for them to wait any longer.  The sun pierced through the concrete monoliths and illuminated the Mega-Way. The Judges raced through traffic and weaved between the gridlock of the morning commute. After a short time, they arrived at the Sector House. Roebuck located an empty desk in the investigations room and claimed it. These desks were available to any Judge who needed space to sit down to go over case work or search through records. Azarola followed Roebuck and took a seat next to the desk. There was an electronic tablet device connected to the desk that Roebuck picked up. He opened up the files on the device that pertained to the November first murder. In addition, he also opened the photographs from the recent scene. The crime scene teks had just finished the upload. Azarola sat quietly and watched Roebuck.

“Azarola, the shift’s over. You can clock out,” Roebuck said as he peered at her over the tablet.

“I don’t mind at all. It’s a learning experience,” Azarola replied.

“The Watch Commander doesn’t like me very much so I don’t think I can get him to sign both our overtime slips.”

“I couldn’t help but overhear that. If you don’t mind me asking sir, why does he not like you?”

            Roebuck placed the tablet down on the desk and turned to face Azarola. He leaned his seat back and folded his hands flat on his chest. His elbows were propped up on the chair’s armrests.

“If I could put it ever so plainly,” Roebuck said. “Eddington is an idiot. He spends too much time snooping on us and making our lives miserable with the canceled days off, the constant shift transfers. His deployments that leave us stretched too thin. He’s the “A” Watch Commander for Grud’s sake. He runs the day shift, so why was he out there for the overnight!? ”

“Well you make it clear you don’t like him,” said Azarola. “But what have you done to make him go after you.”

“It was over the summer, before you were assigned here. Morale among the Sector’s Judges was nonexistent. There was one morning he confronted a bunch of us Judges at a doughnut shop. That condemned place across the street from the Sector House. We’ll we’re in there and all of a sudden Eddington rushes in with several SJS Judges. He pushes us all into a line to yell at us. I got smart with him, said something that really pissed him off. Next thing I know I get knocked to the ground. Since then he’s just been on my ass about everything.”

“So what did you say that set him off like that?”

“I really don’t remember. It was some smart-ass remark as to why he with us there and not at the Sector House.”

“Well you were insubordinate, I can understand his frustration. But at the same time, he’s an ineffectual leader if his behavior breaks down the discipline of the Sector.”

“He started his career with the Special Judicial Squad, and was promoted to Watch Commander. Watch Commanders need to come from Street Judges, not SJS. He’s so focused on prying into everyone’s affairs that he often overlooks his command responsibilities.”

            Azarola sat forward in her chair. She was interested to hear what Roebuck had to say, his opinions on Eddington. It had been several weeks since she started her field training with Roebuck, and she could tell he did not like her. She tried to be polite about it, but every rookie mistake she made always brought out his cold remarks.

“If you excuse me for changing the subject,” Azarola said. “I don’t know how to put this, but this is the most we’ve spoken in the month we’ve been assigned together. And this is the first time I can think of you’ve actually used my name. So I have to ask, are you alright?”

            Roebuck leaned the chair upright and sat forward. His body posture showed he reacted to the question and did take a slight offense to it. He wanted to shout back at Azarola, to verbally chastise her for what she said. The words never came to him. He seemed to lurch forward, about to attack, but stopped. Roebuck slumped back into the chair.

“Look I realized I’ve been a dick,” Roebuck said in an almost apologetic tone. “I was pissed that I drew the field training assignment. I’ve been taking the frustration out on you instead of providing relevant instruction. Lately, I’ve been working through some things that pertained to the time I got shot over the summer…Point is if you don’t feel like your benefitting from me I can arrange to have you paired with another Judge.”

“I understand you don’t like me,” said Azarola. “That is perfectly alright with me. I’m not here to make friends, just pass the field training phase. Though it does come off as cold, the advice is still good. So if it’s alright I’d like to remain with you.”

“Well if that’s what you want.”

“Alright something is definitely the matter!” Azarola replied as she slammed a hand down onto the table. “It was no secret you wanted rid of, now you’re alright with me staying?”

            Roebuck did not have an answer. He slouched in the chair while he aimlessly stared off into space. Azarola could tell he avoided eye contact. On his side, Roebuck was caught off guard by the conversation. His mind began to wander, thoughts drifted to the recent traumatic events of the summer. The pain in his chest appeared once again, a searing, piercing pain in the part of his chest where he had been shot. He grabbed at the point, his face reflected the pain.

“Sir, are you alright!” Azarola said in an almost panic. “Do you need me to get a medic?”

“This happens,” Roebuck replied. “It’ll pass, but only after hurting like a bitch.”

“I’m sorry to pry like this, but is that why you have that flask? Why you’re drinking on the job? Is it for the physical pain or psychological?”

“So you know?”

“I mean, whiskey is a distinguishable smell, especially if we spend the whole night working together. Look, I know it seems out of line, but I feel like it is my business to ask, is it affecting your job?”

“Rookie, you’re starting to get out of line,” Roebuck said, his tone sounded annoyed.

“Sir, with all due respect, that behavior can compromise not only our safety, but the citizens’ as well.”

            There was a long pause as silence filled the air between them. The task at hand in regards to the Eddow’s murder seemed forgotten by both Judges. Roebuck had not expected to be confronted in this manner at all. There was something in the way Azarola spoke to him, she sounded upset yet wanted to help at the same time.

“In the academy, one of the areas they have me pursing is hostage negotiations,” Azarola said. “I guess someone thinks I have a knack for talking to distressed persons in trouble. So if I may?

            Roebuck silently nodded, a sign that Azarola was free to continue.

“You’re hurting Roebuck,” Azarola said in a comforting tone. “You’ve come near death and it has affected you. Now the Department offers shrinks for Judges to talk to, especially after incidents like this. But who really wants to talk to one of these shrinks. We all know the stories; they fail perfectly competent Judges for the slightest deviation for their perspective of normal. So you need to talk to someone right? Marston is friend, but he doesn’t strike me as a good listener. He’s more of the ‘shut up and toughen it out’ type. Well you help me with the field training so why don’t I help you through this? I’m here for you.”

            Azarola did not notice it initially nor did Roebuck react quickly when she put her hand on his. She had unknowingly stretched out her arm and took his hand that rested on the table. They soon realized what happened. Roebuck and Azarola each recoiled in a panic. Both were in disbelief of what just happened. There was the awkward scramble between them as they both stood up and both had an excuse as to why they had to suddenly leave. Roebuck felt tired and wanted to head up to the dormitory. Azarola said she had a dissertation to prepare for her academy class. The two Judges exchanged an awkward farewell and left.

            Roebuck made his way as quickly as he could to the dormitory. He swiped his identification card through the scanner outside of the dorm and unlocked door. The dormitory was divided into two sections between male and female. Within the two sections were a series of smaller rooms that contained the bunks. Each room could accommodate twelve Judges. Two double stacked bunks on each side ran the length of the room with one double stacked bunk on each side of the width. The rooms were small and cramped. There was barely enough space in a bunkroom when all twelve beds held a full complement of Judges. The Sector House itself was old and showed its signs of wear. It had been constructed before the atomic war, originally as a police headquarters and barracks. There was hardly a room in the Sector House that did not have water stains on ceiling, mold and dirt stains on the walls, or cracks in the floors. Hallways with lamps that flickered or fixtures with burned out bulbs. There was always a funding issue with the 288 Sector House. Many of the repair requests filed were never filled.    

            This time Roebuck was lucky, he found a bunkroom with only three other Judges. He took off his helmet and jacket, and placed them on hooks attached to the side of the bunk. The other Judges did not seem to notice he entered the room as they were already asleep. Roebuck climbed into a bottom bunk and laid down. The mattresses were all wrapped in plastic because they were a disgusting sight. Once white, over time they progressed to a musty yellow color and lost their firmness from constant wear. Many Judges suspected the mattresses came were original to the building. After the washing machines broke the bunks no longer had any sheets or blankets, as there was no way to clean them. The downright lousy housing conditions at the Sector House forced the majority of Judges to seek their own residences. Department policy dictated Judges were to live at the Sector House, but few in Sector 288 did. The bunkrooms were primarily used by Judges who need a few quick hours of rest, mostly the ones fresh off an overnight shift and too tired to make it to their off-site residences.

            Roebuck lay on the plastic, uncomfortable mattress and stared up at the underside of the top bunk. He tried to block out the incident with Azarola from his mind. From the investigations room, he brought an electronic tablet to go over the evidence. It had been an eventful shift and he knew sleep was probably not possible. On the tablet, he flipped through the crime scene photos of the two dead prostitutes. The Records and Identification Division had a long backlog of cases and were unable to provide Roebuck with a name for the first victim, even after several days. So for the time being she was “Jane Doe”. He did have identification for the recent victim, Victoria “Vikki” Eddows, and only because he arrested and convicted her for prostitution about three weeks ago. He opened up her file and saw she had her sentence commuted two days ago as part of a rehabilitation release program for prostitutes. Though Roebuck humored at the program’s success since Eddows was immediately back to work on the street. There was one detail that caught his attention, the removal of the victim’s finger nails. Out of curiosity he pulled up the crime scene photos and autopsy report for the Jane Doe to check her fingernails. There it hit him; Jane Doe’s fingernails had also been removed. He started to piece together a pattern; both victims were women in their twenties, both were prostitutes. Both victims were viciously mutilated, the second showed a progression in savagery. Finally, both had their fingernails painstakingly removed and taken from the scene. Roebuck became concerned; the two murders appeared too similar to be a simple coincidence. He had little proof to support his theory, but he started to theorize the murders might be linked.    

            Roebuck saw an opportunity, albeit a morbid one. If he could prove the murders were linked then he could have them assigned to a special investigator. The special investigators handled major crimes as well as serious and heinous homicides. Due to the high crime rate in Sector 288, the special investigators were always overwhelmed with cases. When the special investigators were overwhelmed, Street Judges often were assigned to handle the work. Eddington as Watch Commander always made sure Roebuck was first on the extra detail list. In this situation, if the two prostitutes’ murders were the work of a serial killer, then the crimes would automatically fall under the category of major crimes. All major crimes were handled by special investigators.

            The screen on the tablet flicked off as Roebuck placed it into a pocket on the side of the bunk. He lay on his back with his hands folded under his head, as the pillow was absent. For a second he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

            _The rain fell all around him, a torrent of water that blanketed the area from the night sky. It was a cold rain that brought an eerie chill. Roebuck checked his surroundings; the vacant lot where Eddows was murdered. A woman’s body lay in the center of the lot, naked. She laid there, illuminated by floodlights on a portable stand, surrounded by evidence markers placed by crime scene teks. The lot was empty, except for Roebuck and the deceased. Roebuck wondered where everybody was. Surely the scene should be alive with activity of Judges and teks at work, but it was dead. Judge Roebuck slowly approached the body. It was the scene where Vikki Eddows had been murdered. He wondered why he was back here. As he peered down at the corpse he did not see Eddows. Rather it was the body of Sarah Holmes._

Roebuck jolted awake and slammed his head on the upper bunk. He let out a loud scream and clutched at his chest as the pain had once again returned.

“Roebuck shut the hell up! I’m trying to sleep you asshole,” one of the Judges in the room shouted.

            The other two Judges grumbled at the interruption to their sleep. Roebuck got out of the bunk. He staggered a bit and wandered out of the room to the communal washroom at the end of the all. The walk was difficult and the pain in his chest more intense than usual. He finally made it into the washroom and over to a sink. The warm water soaked his hands as he splashed it onto his face. Roebuck looked at his reflection in the mirror. His hands shook uncontrollably as they clutched the sides of the sink. He felt the strength drain out of him and he slid to the floor. With his back propped up against the tile wall next to the sink, he pulled the flask from his pocket and took a quick swig. When his nerves calmed, he returned the flask, shut his eyes, and fell asleep.

 

***

 

Skid Row, 21 November

0103 hours:

            Roebuck was in a very bad mood tonight. Prior to the beginning of the shift, he met with the Sector House’s head of the Special Investigations Unit. Roebuck hoped to convince the SIU to take over the investigation of his two dead prostitutes. He prepared his case and displayed his evidence and theories as to how the murders were connected. While the SIU head found the evidence substantial, he stated there was inadequate manpower to take over the investigation. Therefore, the request was denied.

            Skid Row was an alleyway that ran for several blocks between Sector 288’s worst housing projects. These were operated by the city, but were in a state of disrepair and uninhabitable. The Sector Housing Commission lacked the necessary funds to bring the structures up to code. While officially not in use, squatters had taken up residence inside the project units as well as in the alley outside. Mostly these were junkies and rejects with nowhere left to go.

            Roebuck found a junkie with a needle in his arm passed out on a pile of garbage bags. He raised his daystick above his head and brought it down swiftly on the junkie. The junkie drifted into consciousness, but did not seem to notice the pain from his arm that Roebuck had just broken.

“You junkie piece of shit,” Roebuck yelled as he kicked and swung his daystick at the man.

            When the junkie slipped back into unconsciousness, Roebuck moved onto the next one, this being Skid Row, there was no shortage. Roebuck approached another and started to beat this junkie in the same fashion as the last. He vented his anger on those he knew were unable to stand up for themselves. These were the ones that nobody cared if they were roughed up a bit. Azarola looked on with concerned. Neither had brought up the conversation or what happened between them. She was alarmed by his behavior towards the junkies.

“Rookie,” Roebuck called out. “These two creeps, resisting arrest and possession of a controlled substance, what’s the sentence!?”

“One year for resisting and four for the drugs,” Azarola replied.

“Rookie, take a look at these two! Those kinds of injuries they’ve sustained. I had to use proper force to subdue these violent offenders. They are clearly prone to violent behavior and have total disregard for Justice Department personnel. They’re each getting the full five for resisting.”

            Roebuck and Azarola each lifted a junkie and cuffed them. Azarola called for a pat wagon and then nervously followed Roebuck as he searched for more junkies to add to the transport. Roebuck strolled down the alley until he came across a person off to his right. Two feminine legs stuck out from below a pile of cardboard. Only the legs below the knees were visible. The left foot had a red high heeled shoe while the other was bare. Roebuck jabbed the woman’s left leg with his foot.

“Alright sugar tits,” Roebuck said. “Nap time is over, wake the fuck up!”

            Roebuck decided to kick the woman’s left leg a bit harder this time. To his horror, as his foot made contact, the leg detached and landed a couple of feet away. Neither of the Judges said a word. They silently looked at each other before they bent down to pull the cardboard off of the woman’s body. They first saw evidence the left leg had been severed at the knee by several heavy blows from sharp instrument, a meat cleaver or something similar. It had been cut through completely, before it was accidently kicked by Roebuck. They continued to clear the debris from the body and discovered a horrifically mutilated body. She had her clothing torn away from the upper half of her body and a tattered miniskirt covered part of her lower extremities. In addition to the severed leg, her throat was cut with several deep incisions. The murderer hacked a hole into her chest cavity and removed her heart. The victim also had a large wound on her right temple, most likely the result of a blow from a blunt instrument. Both Judges were stunned by the discovery and then a though crossed Roebuck’s mind. He bent down to examine the woman’s hands and found the fingernails had been removed.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Roebuck repeated to himself over and over.

“What is it sir? What’s wrong?” Azarola immediately inquired.

“The fingernails are gone, just like on the other two hookers.”

“So what does that mean exactly?”

“A pattern, not one we like to see.”

“They’re connected?”

            Roebuck tried to clear his head, but his mind only focused on the murders. He knew they were linked and now there was a third. The killer targeted women, more particularly prostitutes. All the victims were in their twenties and violently mutilated.

“You remember the first two Azarola?” said Roebuck. “Each victim had their fingernails pulled out.”

“Maybe it could be a precaution?” Azarola said. “The killer watches too many crime shows and is paranoid about leaving DNA under the fingernails. Like if she was to scratch him?”

“Not this one, look at the head wound. Our victim was out before she could put up a fight. And the lack of defensive bruising on her body supports this. The killer had her out quickly and she was at his mercy.”

“Good Grud!”

            The thought of the killer, able to take his time with the dead girl, seemed to bother Azarola. She stood back from the body to collect herself. Roebuck kneeled down next to corpse and carefully lifted the woman’s hand. Then, he pressed her thumb to his lawscreen to scan the print. It was then transmitted to the Sector House for analysis and identification.   The understaffed and overworked crime lab would give Roebuck and identification of the woman as soon as they could. Roebuck stood up as well and opened a communications line to Control.

“ _Roebuck to Control_ ,” he radioed.

“ _Control_ ,” the dispatcher replied.

“ _Possible homicide, request additional units and crime scene teks. Also if SIU can spare anybody, send them down.”_

_“Roger your request. Be advised, wait time on the teks, they’re handling a hit and run on 183 rd and a jumper at the Haven Conapts.”_

“Perfect,” Roebuck said to himself.

Roebuck and Azarola waited for over an hour. Azarola stood by the curb with the two prisoners while Roebuck was situated next to the victim in order to preserve the scene. Finally, the pat wagon for the two vagrant junkies arrived. Roebuck had to postpone their sentences as they were now witnesses to a crime. He ordered they be taken to the Sector House. As the pat wagon pulled away, several vehicles approached the scene. They were not the Justice Department vehicles that the two Judges had hoped to see. These were news vans that belonged to the _North Meg Media Service_ , the press. Correspondents and camera crews leapt from the news vans and quickly surrounded the Judges. The _North Meg Media Service_ had a poor reputation for exaggerating the truth and editing interview content. All of the Judges, citywide, despised the _NMMS_ and felt the news service caused more harm than good.

“So Judge,” one of the reports said as he shoved a microphone in Azarola’s face. “We picked up on the radio scanner that there’s been a murder and the Special Investigative Unit has been requested. From our experience, whenever the SIU is called in, it’s usually serious.”

“The SIU is called in to investigate all murders,” Roebuck said as he pulled Azarola away from the reporter.

“Well, we’ll have you know our computer at the station has been running algorithms as it monitors the scanner. This is the third murder you, Judge Roebuck, have reported. We have sources that say you are investigating two of the previous ones. And now there is a third, three kills makes it a serial killer, you can look that one up!”

“There is no evidence to support a serial killer claim.”

            It was as if Roebuck just dumped a bucket of blood in a shark tank. The press went wild.

“So Judge Roebuck, can you elaborate about the serial killer?” the reporters fired away. “Are there any leads on the serial killer? This is his third victim, are there others we don’t know about? Has the killer sent any notes? Demands? Will he kill again? Who is the next victim? When and where will he strike next!?”

            The reporters fired off questions left and right. The questions were all wild speculations, nothing that could be reasonably answered. Roebuck stood his ground; he stopped his responses since it only fed the fire. The two Judges stood tall, surrounded on all sides by vultures. The sound of sirens wailed and grew louder as they approached. Additional Judges arrived on the scene to assist the clearly overwhelmed Roebuck and Azarola. The press finally relented when the extra Judges pushed their way to their beleaguered comrades and established a perimeter. The H-Wagon arrived shortly afterwards with collapsible barricades that were quickly erected to keep the press at bay. The teks also arrived on scene and began their evidence sweep.

            As the scene was locked down, word traveled quickly that the new Sector Chief was en route. At the end of the summer, the Sector Chief of Sector 288 retired from the position and took the long walk into the Cursed Earth. Under the last two years of his command, discipline and morale deteriorated within his Sector. The Judges conducted illicit affairs, dereliction of duty, some extorted criminals. After Boone was killed and Roebuck wounded, the Judicial Council at the Hall of Justice decided to act and forced the aged Chief into retirement. From the retirement until a day ago, Sector 288 was without a Sector Chief. The overnight Watch Commander, Saul Thomas was appointed the interim Chief, though he was also expected to carry out his watch command duties. Eddington was more than happy to step in and help with the command of the overnight shift. For several months, the Sector House struggled to stay afloat as it suffered from a lack of command. Crime skyrocketed as judicial resources were stretched to their limits.

            A four-door Justice Department unmarked patrol vehicle arrived. The front passenger quickly opened his door and stepped out. He moved to rear passenger side door and opened it for the Sector Chief. She exited the vehicle as another staffer stepped out from the other side. Katherine Grossman was in her late forties, with graying hair, and a strong athletic build, she worked hard to maintain. Her face was stern as was her demeanor. She was followed closely by two Judges that comprised her staff. The one who opened the door for her acted more as muscle, though she was plenty capable in a fight. He was Judge Golovchenko, a large built individual the others nicknamed the “bear”. The other staffer, Judge Tompkins, was a scrawny, pencil neck, better equipped for paperwork than enforcement. He fumbled with three different electronic tablets as he tried to keep up with the Sector Chief. Upon her arrival, she immediately asked to speak to Roebuck.

“Roebuck isn’t it? Let’s have a report of the scene,” Grossman asked in a professional tone.

            Roebuck was a bit taken aback. He had grown accustomed to the lethargic command style of Sector 288. The Sector Chief never used to appear at the scene of a crime. The only sort of command personnel that did visit was Eddington, just to harass Roebuck.

“Well…um,” Roebuck stuttered for words as he was caught off guard. “Female victim, early twenties. Her throat was cut, lacerations into her chest cavity, it appears her heart was removed, Ma’am.”

“Do you have a positive identification Roebuck?” Grossman asked.

“I took a print reading and sent it to the crime lab for analysis. I haven’t heard anything back as of yet.”

            Grossman looked very displeased, though her displeasure was not at Roebuck. She turned to her assistant, Judge Tompkins.

“Call the crime lab and tell them to process the prints Roebuck sent, now!” Grossman barked. “If they’re shorthanded, call the Chiefs at 286, 290, and 294 to send over any teks they can spare. Those Chiefs all owe me and they’ll make good.”

            Tompkins acknowledged and got to work with the series of calls. Roebuck was impressed by the decisiveness, finally a Chief that inspired confidence in those under their command. Grossman turned back to Roebuck to finish the report.

“That is utterly unacceptable!” Grossman said. “That the crime lab cannot process a victim’s identification is a timely matter. Now, I read the report you submitted concerning a connection between two previous murders this month. Earlier today I visited the morgue and saw the victims for myself. I can understand the pattern. I was curious when you called in this victim so I had to come see for myself. Does she fit the pattern, mutilation and missing fingernails?”

“Yes ma’am,” Roebuck answered.

“Show me.”

            Roebuck led Chief Grossman to the dead woman. The Chief knelt next to the body to make a close examination. She scanned the corpse, the lacerations, the hands, and the severed leg. The tips of the fingers where the all the nails had been pulled out. The Chief took a small metal probe from the breast pocket of her uniform blouse. With the probe, she lifted the miniskirt and exposed the dead woman.

“Has anybody bothered to take a rape kit?” Grossman asked. “And then run the DNA, gather information on suspects?”

“I know the Teks swabbed the other girls,” Roebuck said. “But the amount of DNA they’ve collected coupled with their staffing issues…well no results as of yet, ma’am.”

            Grossman stood up and motioned to Golovchenko. Golovchenko silently acknowledged with a nod. He went over to Tompkins to add addition requests for lab tests.

“If you want my opinion ma’am,” Roebuck said. “I doubt the rape kits will get us anywhere.”

“And why do you think that?” The Chief replied.

“It’s the severity of the mutilation. These crimes are sexually motivated, yes, but I don’t believe our killer receives his sexual gratification through intercourse.”

“You’re a behavioral science expert, Roebuck?”

“I studied a bit at the academy. In the case of our killer, he violently mutilates his victims because he harbors a deep hatred of women. The violence is his way of demonstrating his power and control over them. And it is exciting for him. By killing the woman and mutilating the body he receives a sexual gratification greater than intercourse.”

“So how long until you can have a complete psycho analysis ready?”

“With all due respect ma’am, I really don’t feel qualified to handle this. Shouldn’t someone from major crimes take lead?”

“What can the MCU accomplish that you can’t? You’ve been on this case from the start and it seems to me like you know what you’re doing. Therefore, I’m taking you off regular shift work so you can focus primarily on these murders. Submit a list of three Judges you want to assist in your investigation and have a preliminary report ready by tomorrow morning.”

            Roebuck was stunned as Grossman turned and walked away. He had not expected to command a detail like this, or to have the crime lab expedite his evidence. Finally, Roebuck felt confident about the Sector House. It seemed like things were about to get better. Though at the same moment the task at hand fell upon him like a great burden. He had to track down a killer in an already difficult case. On top of that, it was the first assignment from the new Sector Chief. If Roebuck failed he knew for sure it would ruin his credibility with Grossman. He now felt stupid for the brief analysis he gave.

“Well congratulations,” Azarola said as she patted Roebuck on the shoulder.

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into,” said Roebuck as he looked down.

“So I never knew were into behavioral sciences. I heard about that program at the academy, and how it’s near impossible to make.”

“I was in the program, scored well, but still assigned to streets.”

“Well that’s their loss, you sure do know a lot about killers.”

“They’re a hobby.”

“Pretty fucked up hobby.”

“I’m a pretty fucked up guy.”

            Azarola looked uncomfortably away as Roebuck’s last remark made the conversation awkward. There was a silence between the two. Roebuck figured out what he had done and scrambled to fix the situation.

“Guess we had better head to the Sector House and go over evidence,” Roebuck said. “You want to be on a serial killer detail rookie? You’re about as qualified for it as I am.”

 

***

 

Sector House 288, 21 November

0845

            Roebuck and Azarola sat at long table in a private conference room. The room was originally reserved for Watch Commander Eddington, but Roebuck made sure to requisition it as a critical resource to the investigation. And Roebuck knew at this moment, Eddington was in Grossman’s office throwing a fit about the situation. Strewn about the table are different electronic tablets that contain case files and evidence reports. Roebuck leans back in his chair as he reads, his feet are crossed. He removed his Kevlar jacket, which hangs on the back of an adjacent chair. By contrast, Azarola sat studiously, upright as she reviewed the case. The two Judges were able to get a few hours of sleep after they came straight from the crime scene. Now they were refreshed and eager to get to work. The door to the room opened and in walked Marston.

“I had to see this shit to believe it,” Marston said.

“It’s like I said in the txt I sent you,” Roebuck replied. “I get any available resources. So if you’re done being Eddington’s desk bitch, wanna catch a killer?”

“That desk assignment was driving me insane Roe. Thank you for the save.”

“How pissed is Eddington I have his room?”

“Son, he’s been non-stop since 0400. Hell, Jenkins had to cover the morning briefing, cuz’ Eddy has been going between the Chief and SJS field office just to argue his plight.”

            Roebuck burst into a fit of laughter. He laughed so hard tears began to form. Marston turned now toward Azarola as she looked up from her casework. He stuck out his hand to shake hers and say hello. But Marston then took Azarola’s hand as formal gentleman at party takes a lady’s. He melodramatically bowed and spoke as he did.

“And how is the lovely Mrs. Roebuck today!?” Marston joked.

            Azarola had a perplexed look on her face as she jerked away. Roebuck calmed himself enough to speak. He looked Azarola and spoke.

“You’ll have to excuse Rhett,” said Roebuck. “He just had a lobotomy last week.”

“Eat a dick, Roebuck,” Marston replied.

“Can it wait? My ass is still sore from our last date.”

            Azarola’s facial expression was a cross between perplexed and almost horrified. As she was a rookie, she was unfamiliar of the routine between Roebuck and Marston. The two used it as a way to bother others around them and they had done it so often it had become second nature.

“Oh shit!” Marston exclaimed. “She doesn’t know.”

“Yeah we do that to be funny,” Roebuck said as he explained it Azarola. “The best part is Eddington believes it. You should go through the file he put together and sent the SJS about Marston and I. There’s a funny read if you’re bored.”

“Very funny boys,” Azarola said her tone more loose and informal. “Now when you two are done circle jerking each other, I found something interesting that pertains to the case at hand.”

“Wow,” said Marston, caught off guard by the comment.

“Ok Azarola,” Roebuck said. “Let’s hear it.”

            The rookie Judge pressed a button on her tablet which brought the big monitor on the conference room’s wall to life. The monitor displayed the images on Azarola’s tablet. There were pictures of the three deceased victims and below the pictures were the lists of names of matches to the seminal fluid recovered. Thanks to the support of Chief Grossman, the crime labs in neighboring Sectors lent resources and rushed the results to Roebuck’s detail.

“Well the results came in a little while ago,” said Azarola. “The names are just the ones we have their DNA on record, collected from visits to their doctor and/or extracted when processed for time in ISO Cubes. There’s a name that appears on all three of the lists, Stanley Bren.”

            With another tap of the electronic tablet, the wall monitor changed. It now displayed the mug shot of Stanley Bren and his long list of arrests. The head on the monitor was expressionless, a man’s face that looked like an individual to avoid. He had a crooked nose, signs it had been broken several times, and several large open sores on his cheeks and forehead. Marston started to laugh at the name.

“‘Sketchy Stan’, the killer!? Are you serious!?” Marston said.

            Azarola was confused about Bren, unaware of his notorious reputation among the Sector’s Judges. She looked to Roebuck with an expression that she needed to be filled in on the details.

“Sketchy Stan Bren,” Roebuck started. “He’s been arrested by just about every Judge in 288. He went and got himself diagnosed as a ‘sex addict’, claiming he needs sex to survive. Most of us don’t buy his excuse, but some sap at the ISO Cube addiction center did. Long story short, he likes to frequent prostitutes.”

“And every time we catch him with one,” Marston interjected. “He claims the ‘sex addiction’ excuse and beats the charge. So he avoids cube time and goes in for treatment.”

“He’s a creep, but not our guy. There is something not right about his connection. It will be worthwhile to pick him up though, as well as everyone on the DNA list we can identify. Gross as the thought is, the ‘Johns’ were the last ones to see the victims alive. We question them and find out if they saw the girls meet the next guys, where they went; did they see anybody strange hanging around?”

“That’s pretty disgusting Roe. Doesn’t anybody use rubbers anymore?”

“I mean with the pill as effective as the scientists have made it now why bother right? Plus they’re figured out how to treat most STDs out there, guess the rubbers are obsolete.”

“What gets me is the DNA turnaround. Back in the old days, it took weeks to get results. Now, our computers can have a match calculated in a matter of hours. But we’re so understaffed, underfunded, the lab geeks can’t get to everything. Therefore, we’re back to old ways of waiting forever for the results.”

“Why can’t we just take in the evidence and run it ourselves,” Azarola inquired.

“Chain of custody,” Roebuck answered. “We have to turn in the evidence to a lab technician who is authorized to conduct the test. If we attempt to run the test there’s the possibility we could alter the results in our favor. The accused can claim the evidence had been tampered and have it dismissed. So it has to go straight from our possession right to the lab.”

            When Roebuck finished, the door to the conference room opened and in stepped Golovchenko. Golovchenko emigrated with his family from East-Meg One at a young age. Though raised in the Big Meg, he spoke in a thick accent.

“Judge Roebuck,” Golovchenko said. “Chief Grossman requires your presence in her office immediately!”

“Oh no, Roe’s in trouble!” Marston joked.

“You two play nice. I’ll be back soon,” said Roebuck.

            Judge Roebuck stood up and pushed in his chair. He grabbed a navy blue button down uniform shirt that was folded over the same chair as his jacket. The shirt made him look presentable in front of the Sector Chief. So he did not have to wear the bulky Kevlar jacket, which was also acceptable with the uniform dress code. As Roebuck followed Golovchenko, he pulled his arms through the shirt and buttoned the front.

“So what is this about?” Roebuck asked. “If this about the profile, I’m still working on it. I’ll need a few more hours to go over evidence.”

“Vi discuss in Chief’s office, not before,” Golovchenko said in a commanding tone.

            The two boarded a lift which traveled to the operations floor. Roebuck tucked in the shirt tails and straightened the collar. The new Chief impressed him, she secured valuable resources, sped up the lab results, and the least he could do was dress properly. The lift reached the floor, Roebuck and Golovchenko stepped out. They walked down the hallway to the Sector Chief’s office. Golovchenko opened the door and showed Roebuck in. Grossman sat at her desk, her attention focused on the display of an electronic tablet she held. On the wall of the office was a large screen monitor that was set to the _NMMS_ channel, the morning talk show. The pundits on the screen went back and forth as they discussed the “serial killer” loose in Sector 288. Their round table discussion was interrupted with footage of Roebuck’s so called interview. The footage had been altered, mashed, edited, all to make Roebuck sound like he confirmed a serial killer was indeed on the loose. Roebuck stared at the programme and realized how they altered his words. He turned to Grossman to speak, to explain the edited footage.

“Ma’am if you’ll let me…” Roebuck started.

“Shut up Roebuck,” Grossman interrupted as she lifted her head and focused directly on Roebuck. “It’s not entirely fair to you since we’ve never seen them stoop to this level before. However, let this serve as a lesson to you; don’t ever say anything to the press. The PR office will handle all statements. If any reporters accost you about case details, say nothing.”

            Roebuck nodded his acknowledgement. Grossman motioned with her hand toward a chair opposite her desk, for Roebuck to sit down. As Roebuck sat, Grossman pressed a button on her tablet to switch off the _NMMS_ programme. The monitor now displayed the body of a dead prostitute, this one unfamiliar to Roebuck. The body lay on a morgue table. The girl had a pale complexion and very swollen, waterlogged. Grossman placed the tablet down and folder her hands.

“All night the press have been running stories about the murders,” Grossman started. “I just spoke with the Sector Chief from 283. They found this girl six days ago, floating in a water tank at a disused pumping station. The crime lab at 283 estimated she’s been dead for about month. They’ve identified her as Kimberly Smith, 23, and several arrests for prostitution. In addition, she had her throat cut, torso mutilated, and her fingernails removed. When the press broke the story I received a call from Chief Prang. His Sector’s MCU found they had a mutilated body missing the fingernails. Well to summarize it, Smith is now part of your investigation.”

            The body count was now up to four. The murder was a month old and Roebuck did not even know about it until now. Four victims and the Justice Department was no closer to an arrest. The case was a complicated one. It was hampered further by the fact that the different Sector Houses would not communicate with each other. On occasion the breakdown in communication resulted from rival Sector Chiefs not on good terms. The main reason was the autonomy of the Sector House. Each Sector House was designed to act on its own to enforce the law inside its Sector. They primarily focused on their own crimes and criminals. The Judges in their own Sectors were too busy and over-burdened with their own responsibilities to inquire about cases in a neighboring one. If Judge suspected a criminal connection in a neighboring Sector, it was their responsibility to contact that Sector House and hope they could find a Judge or clerk with enough time to help.

Chief Prang in Sector 283 saw the reports from the _NMMS_. He had a homicide that matched the _operandi_ of the ones on the news. Prang’s MCU thought the removal was a precaution taken by the killer to protect against DNA trapped under the nails. They suspected it was a new trend among the paranoid types that watched too many crime scene programmes. Prang placed a call to Grossman to find out about the news reports, though he withheld all information about his connection. When Grossman explained the murders Prang discussed his case. He then suggested, since Grossman had a detail newly formed, her Judges take over. Grossman was furious with Prang’s maneuver, but accepted. Prang only wanted the investigation moved so it would lower his crime statistics.

            Roebuck felt a bit overwhelmed with the additional victim. He was frustrated that Smith had been out there, but she was hidden, tucked away by the system. The rest of the day would be devoted to a series of calls to the surrounding Sectors for any information related to the murders. If these Sectors had similar victims that matched the “ _MO”_ of the killer Roebuck sought. Grossman spoke again.

“I’ve called in most of my favors,” she said. “I will do all I can to get you the resources you need. But be mindful, we’re stretched thin out there. There’s a limit to what I can obtain, anything more will comprise our people on the streets.”

“I understand,” Roebuck replied. “With your permission, I’ll return to the detail and continue the investigation. With this new victim, it’ll take a bit longer to complete the profile.”

“Do what you can Judge Roebuck, you’re dismissed.”

            Roebuck stood up and turned. He exited the office accompanied by Golovchenko. Golovchenko walked Roebuck to the lift. The hall was crowded with clerks and other division heads from the Sector House who arrived to see Grossman. The Chief had just taken over command and was already involved in this major investigation. She had to balance Roebuck’s detail with her transition as Chief of Sector 288. Golovchenko boarded the lift with Roebuck and spoke.

“Chief Grossman vant you to know you have my assistance in this case,” Golovchenko said. “Iv you can provide me names of suspects from DNA hits, I take wagon and pick them up.”

“I’ll have Azarola send you the names,” Roebuck answered.

            The lift descended quickly and shook on its way down. The elevators were original to the pre-war building and showed their age, though so far without incident. The floor indicator buzzed and the doors opened. Roebuck stepped out. Golovchenko continued on to the garage floor to start the suspect pickup. Azarola and Marston sat quietly around the conference table as they each read through case details. Roebuck opened the door to the room and stepped in.

“Great news kids,” Roebuck started as he took a seat. “Judges at 283 pulled a dead hooker out of a water tank six days ago. Throat cut and mutilated, nails missing and all. Just like our girls.”

“Jovis Grud!” Marston exclaimed. “So this is the real deal Roe?”

“Let me finish the profile, it’ll give us a better picture of who were after. I just wish the Grand Hall of Justice would send us someone more qualified to do a criminal profile.”

“Well I have faith you can do it,” Azarola added.

“There are 800 million people in this city,” Roebuck continued. “And the Criminal Behavioral Unit at the Grand Hall only has twenty-seven Judges assigned to it that are trained and qualified to profile.”

            Marston let out a whistle in astonishment.

“Just do the best you can on the profile,” said Azarola. “It’s a shame they’re understaffed, but we’re Judges, we’ve got to make do…And while you were gone we got an ID for the third girl. Name’s Elise Tuttle, a few, no surprises here, arrests for prostitution, but other than that, no housing, birth, family, or early medical records.”

“Missing records aren’t uncommon,” Marston interrupted. “When the bombs fell in the atomic war, things were a mess. We had an influx of refugees, destroyed records; a lot stuff and people just up and got lost in it all.”

“I’m going to continue compiling the profile on our guy,” Roebuck addressed the detail. “Azarola, keep in contact with the lab and see if they come up with anymore DNA hits. Rhett, head down to one of the interrogation rooms. The Chief’s man, Golovchenko, is rounding up the names on Azarola’s list. I want you and him to find out what you can from the last men to proposition her. And talk to those junkie we found at the scene, see if they were lucid enough to see anything.”

            Marston nodded his head in acknowledgment and stood up. He grabbed his jacket that hung from a peg on the wall and pulled it on. On the other side of the table, Azarola sat surrounded by several electronic tablets laid out in a fan pattern, each displayed case information. Roebuck leaned back in his chair. It was an office chair with high back, armrests, and wheels on each of the five spokes that spread out from the base. He leaned back in the chair with a tablet in his hand. The text on the tablet concerned the coroner’s report of the first victim. The first victim was still classified as a “Jane Doe” because the records department still could not find an identification match. It was not uncommon to have undocumented individuals in Mega-City One. Every day, refugees from the Cursed Earth or immigrants from the other Cities slipped into Mega-City One undetected. This was the consensus of the detail.

            The sharp pain returned to Roebuck’s chest. The intense pain caused him to reach up and grab the affected area. As he leaned back in his chair, he suddenly lost his balance. The wheels of the chair rolled and Roebuck fell out. His head hit the ground hard and he closed his eyes. Roebuck blinked as he came around again, his vision was a bit obscured. When it cleared he saw Marston to his right, kneeling. Azarola knelt to his left and held his left hand in hers. With her right she rubbed the back of his hand.

“Use chairs often,” Marston chuckled.

   Roebuck looked at Marston and Azarola as they stared back. He felt a tad embarrassed at about the incident. Marston stretched out his arm and firmly grabbed Roebuck’s forearm. With a strong tug, Marston pulled Roebuck to his feet. As Roebuck stood, his flask, which was loosened by his fall, slipped from his left pants pocket onto the floor. Marston noticed it immediately and turned to Azarola.

“Rookie, clear the room. I need a word with Roebuck,” he said.

            Marston wanted to hurry Azarola out of the room so she would not see the flask on the floor. It was how he could cover for Roebuck. However, it was seen by Azarola, and she knew Roebuck already drank on the job.

“Calm down Rhett,” said Roebuck. “She already knows.”

“Well that’s just fucking great isn’t it,” Marston started. “You gonna tell everyone in the Sector House about your drinking problem. Because that’s the best way to keep your badge.”

“With respect sir,” Azarola said as she turned to Marston. “Will you just shut up! He didn’t tell me. I figured it out and confronted him. Screaming at him won’t do him any good.”

“Damn rookie, you’ve got some mouth on you!” Marston replied to Azarola. He turned back to confront Roebuck again. “Roe, I ain’t gonna make the case that I’m the model Judge. You know me, you know I like to screw around with girls off duty. But I keep that shit strictly off duty. I don’t bring it to work with me because it fucks with the job and can get us or others hurt. We’ve been working this hell hole of a Sector together for two years. I don’t want to turn you, but I don’t want anyone to get hurt, or Grud forbid, killed because of you.”

            Marston stood there and grunted. His eyes were aflame and it was clear he was incensed. Azarola recognized the situation and how it was imperative she put a stop to it. Marston would only continue to verbally scold Roebuck. She put her hand on Marston’s shoulder to turn him around.

“Why don’t you go help Golovchenko with the interviews,” Azarola said in a soothing voice to calm Marston. “I’ll stay here and talk to Roebuck. And don’t worry; I’m focusing on crisis negotiating at the academy. I’m probably the best person he can talk to short of a department shrink.”

            With that, Marston shrugged Azarola’s hand from his shoulder. He quickly lifted his finger and pointed it at Roebuck, about to launch another verbal assault. But, he slowly dropped his arm without a word spoken. He held his head low and exited the room. Roebuck sat back in his chair. Azarola pulled a chair out from the table to sit down right across from Roebuck.

“I didn’t want to press the matter when we first spoke,” Azarola started. “I wanted to wait until you were ready to talk about it. Plus there was that unfortunate awkwardness. But, this is a problem that we need to discuss.”

“It was about a year ago,” Roebuck said in a solemn tone. “There was break in at an apartment in the _Rod Serling Block_. I was interviewing the victim, her name was Sarah. She had some jewelry stolen, but I really couldn’t focus on the interview at all. All I could think about was this beautiful woman. Now I know at the academy they try really hard to condition us not to think these thoughts, but I couldn’t help it. I guess I never took well to the conditioning.”

“I hear they’re planning to restructure the academy’s cadet conditioning program because of its ineffectiveness. But we’re not discussing that, so let’s talk more about Sarah.”

“Well I took down the description of the missing jewelry and left, though all I could think about was her. If property gets stolen, we usually don’t have time to check the pawn shops to see if the said property has been pawned. But, I thought I’d make the effort for her. So in lower level of the Block there’s a pawn shop. Right as I walk in, I spot a guy in the middle of pawning Sarah’s stolen jewelry. I sentence him and take the items back to her. She’s so happy for my work that she offers to cook me dinner to show her appreciation. I tell her after I’m done my shift I’ll be over. And so the shift ends I go over to dinner. I knew she had a husband, but he was at work that night. Well Sarah opens a bottle of wine, one thing led to another and we slept together.”

“You two became romantically involved?”

“We did. As her husband worked nights I would go over to spend time with her after shifts, on days off. She wanted very much to leave her husband for me. But that could never work, Judges can’t marry, can’t have relationships. So I decided it was best we just keep up the sneaking around.”

“And you got away with this?”

“One morning this past summer, I was on my way out of her apartment when the husband came home. He figured out what was going on.”

“What did he do?”

“Well, I was sitting on the lawmaster in an empty lot with Judge Boone. All of a sudden we both hear my name shouted. Boone had his back to the person so he turned to get a better look. That’s when the shooting started. The shooter saw Boone turn and mistaken him for me. The shots rang out and Boone took one to the head and I get it in the chest. He died, I lived. The shooter was Kevin Holmes, Sarah’s husband out targeting me. He probably tracked us down with a radio scanner. I later found out he killed Sarah, stuffed her body in the Block’s garbage disposal unit.”

            Roebuck was visually shaken. His hands started to tremble and his composure weakened. Before Marston had left, he placed the flask on the table. Roebuck spotted it and made a quick grab. As he fumbled with the cap to get it open, Azarola put her right hand over the cap. Roebuck stopped and looked at her.

“You think you’re responsible for their deaths?” Azarola asked in a somber tone.

            Roebuck only nodded his head. He felt tears starting to form in his eyes. This was something he was not accustomed to.

“You’re only human Roebuck,” Azarola said. “You wanted to be with her, but the system wouldn’t allow it. And if you could you would be with her. Mr. Holmes is the one who killed them both.”

“But they would both be alive, but it’s my fault they aren’t,” Roebuck interrupted.

“This is hard to say, but you need to come to terms with their deaths and realize they’re gone. It’s going to be hard, but it’s a task that does not require drinking at all hours to cure the pain.”

“It does help though.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened to Kevin Holmes?”

“I shot him to death in a parking garage…but don’t worry; it was a lawful use of lethal force.”

“So he’s dead, you finished him off. What harm can he do now? You’ve avenged the death of Boone, of Sarah.”

            Azarola pulled the flask out of the hands of Roebuck. He sat motionless, his eyes focused on the ground. She leaned forward and started to rub his upper left arm with her right hand in a comforting way to cheer him up.

“You’re better than this Roebuck,” Azarola said. “We have this murder investigation to conduct. I’ve never done one of these before, and I think Marston is just going to use the detail to avoid regular duty. We can’t catch this guy without you Roe. We need you. Sarah would be proud of you if you catch this killer, so do it for her.”

            Roebuck looked up at Azarola, who smiled back at him. He let out a deep breath and stood up.

“I think I need some time to myself,” Roebuck said.

“Take the day,” Azarola replied. “I’ll cover for you.”

            A silence fell between them. Roebuck nodded in appreciation. He grabbed his Kevlar jacket, pulled his arms through the sleeves and zipped up the front. Then, he took his helmet and put it on. The visor of the helmet could cover up his slightly red eyes. He exited the room with an electronic tablet under his arm. The thought had crossed his mind about going to the dormitory for some alone time, but it lacked privacy. He decided to head to the apartment he kept outside of the Sector House.

The lift raced down several floors down to the motor pool. The doors opened and he stepped out and walked along the rows of lawmasters until he arrived at his. He fired up the engine and tore out of the garage.

            The towering _Waylon Jennings Block_ was not far from the Sector House. Roebuck had an apartment he kept on the fifty-third floor. After ten minutes on the late morning Mega-Way he arrived at the Block and pulled into the underground parking complex. There were enclosed units that residents could secure their vehicles in and he pulled into the one assigned to his apartment. He dismounted his lawmaster and walked outside of the parking unit. He clicked a remote and the strong door to the unit closed. After a short time on the lift, he was finally to his floor. With a wave of a magnetic keycard, the door to the apartment opened. It was a modest apartment, larger than what Roebuck needed. There were two bedrooms, a kitchen and a large living room. The living room had several floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the sprawling city below. It was a sparsely furnished apartment, but well kept and neat. He walked over to the kitchen counter as the apartment’s lights automatically tuned on. On the counter was a half empty bottle of whiskey, pre-war, expensive. Roebuck picked it up and unscrewed the top. He held it in his hand as he thought on the conversation with Azarola. The words she spoke reverberated through his head. He turned to the sink and poured the bottle’s contents down the drain.

 

***

 

 

Sector House 288, 22 November

0530 hours:

            Judge Roebuck sat alone in the office of the Sector Chief. He was tired, up most of the night as he worked on the killer’s profile. There was barely any time for him to get any sleep. The conversation he had with Azarola the previous morning was still fresh on his mind. It was that conversation and the profile that kept him up late. He yawned several times and rubbed his eyes. Just then the door to the office and in stepped Chief Grossman.

“Thank you for coming in this early,” Grossman said as she walked to her desk and sat down. “I have been overwhelmed by the transition, all these meetings here and there. I apologize, but this was the best time for us to meet.”

“It isn’t a problem ma’am,” Roebuck politely replied.

“Well then let us proceed with your report.”

            Roebuck stood up and powered on the electronic tablet he brought with him. With the push of a button, the large monitor on the Chief’s wall displayed the same image as on Roebuck’s tablet. The display consisted of the autopsy photographs of the four victims alongside a top down map of the location the bodies were discovered.  

“Here is an array of our four victims,” Roebuck started. “The one found on November first we’re still calling ‘Jane Doe’ as we have been unable to match her identity to any of our records. Our best assumption, she’s here illegally from one of the Euro-Megs.”

“You are positive from the Euro-Megs?” Grossman inquired. “Could she have hopped the wall from the wastes?”

“If she came from the Cursed Earth, she’d show symptoms of radiation poisoning or radioactive defects, cancers. In her case, no radiation above normal, she would have to come from a Meg. The lab teks ran an ethnicity test, they concluded European.”

“Any matches with the Departments in the Euro-Megs?”

“Nothing so far, the only Department I haven’t heard from is East-Meg One. And with our current political tensions, I’m guessing a no go on cooperation. The other Cits have their own backlogs, so we’ll hear from them when we can.”

            The screen changed again as Roebuck tapped another button on his tablet’s screen. Now, the monitor displayed a silhouette of a mug shot with a question mark on the figure. Next to the mysterious silhouette was a list of traits.

“Here is the profile I have complied,” said Roebuck. “We’re dealing with a male Caucasian. The victims were all Caucasian, killers like to stay within their own ethnicity. He is living somewhere in Sector 288. His ability to evade detection and capture demonstrates his knowledge of the area. His choice of prostitutes tells us he has difficulty with relationships of the opposite sex. Others will see him as a loner, a shy and reserved individual.”

“Were you able to deduce a motive for his killings?” asked Grossman.

“I would say he came from an abusive home. The signs point to growing up with an abusive mother with an absent or passive father. He harbors a deep hatred of women as illustrated by the violence employed in the killings. The mutilations are his way of showing his control and dominance of the victims. He enjoys the violence, perhaps is even sexually aroused by it. These may not have been his first attacks against women, but these are his first murders.”

“And what is the significance of the fingernails?”

“They’re trophies ma’am.”

“Trophies!?”

“He extracts the fingernails of each victim as a keepsake, to remind him of the murder. He has also removed body parts and organs from the victims. You’ll have to excuse me ma’am, I’m still trying to figure out their significance.”

            Grossman leaned over her desk. Her left arm, with the elbow planted on the top of the desk, supported her head. She stared at Roebuck inquisitively as she studied the Judge and his presentation on the monitor. The rays of the early sun shone through the window behind the Chief’s desk and illuminated the room in an orange haze.

“…And what about suspects?” the Chief asked.

“Judges Golovchenko and Marston interviewed several individuals,” said Roebuck. “These were men who matched seminal fluid samples recovered from the victims. “

            Roebuck breathed a heavy sigh before he continued.

“The interviews turned up no significant leads,” he said. “Most were reluctant to answer, fearing prosecution. All their answers were pretty much similar. They finished with the victim, paid and then left without seeing anyone or anything. There were two junkies we picked up at the scene of yesterday’s victim. They both said they did not see anything. We’ll continue holding them indefinitely on the drug charge in case their memory returns.”

“Hold them until this time tomorrow,” Grossman started. “If they haven’t said anything helpful by then, charge and sentence them for CDS usage.”

            Roebuck nodded in acknowledgment. Grossman sat up in her chair and picked up the electronic tablet that sat on her desk. She quickly scanned through some of the pages of Roebuck’s report.

“You mention a Stanley Bren in your report?” Grossman asked. “You say he had intimate contact with three of the victims. What did he say during the interrogation?”

“I was about to bring him up ma’am,” Roebuck answered. “Golovchenko and Marston were unable to locate him. They’ve checked his Block apartment and with neighbors, but nobody has seen him since yesterday morning. I’ve been reluctant to put out an all points bulletin. I don’t know the full reach of the press, but I don’t want them starting a witch hunt for Bren.”

“I want you to shift your focus to Bren. I’ll allocate Street Judges to help you locate him.”

“I want to hear what he has to say. Three encounters with the deceased prior to their murders is no coincidence. However, I do not think he is the killer.”

“We’re going to proceed with Mr. Stanley Bren as our prime person of interest. I want him brought in, understood.”

“Yes ma’am!”

            Chief Grossman looked down at her tablet. Roebuck took the prompt that it was time he left. He turned sharply and made for the exit. Outside of the Chief’s office, Tompkins sat at his small secretary’s desk and typed furiously away on a keyboard. He did not even look up as Roebuck exited. Roebuck looked at the lawscreen on his wrist for the time. The screen digits displayed “0558”. Already there were several section heads from the various divisions within the Sector House. They waited patiently for their meeting with Grossman.      

 

***

 

Sector House 288, 23 November

1345 hours:

            The woman sat in a chair, her head down on the table, rested uncomfortably in her arms. The once white walls of the interrogation room were cracked, covered in graffiti, and blackened by mold. Tiny red droplets stained the walls, the floor; blood from when suspect questioning took a more intensive approach. This room was brightly lit, the only room in the entire Sector House with properly functioning lighting, the bright lights illuminating at an almost offensive glow. The smell of urine was ever prevalent, a byproduct of nervous offenders and Judicial inquiries. From her appearance, there was no mistaking the identity of the woman seated in the chair. The faded red dress and denim jacket worn over it, both were tattered and shabby. The runs in her stockings spoke volume s of her experience in the world’s oldest profession, as did the multitude of cold sores on her cracked, dried lips. On the wall, directly in front of her, was a one way mirror. Roebuck, Marston, and Azarola all stood on the opposite of the mirror. From their darkened vantage point they observed the woman.

“Where the fuck did you find her?” Marston asked.

“Received a hit from the Housing Department,” Roebuck answered. “Her name is Dana Adams; she’s the roommate of the girl they found over in 283, Kimberly Smith. Patrol picked her up last night.”

“So they actually registered with DoH?” Marston sarcastically commented.

            Azarola looked confused, puzzled by Marston’s remark. Roebuck turned to her to explain.

“Often, a ‘pross’ won’t register with the Housing Department,” he said. “That means they can claim vagrancy and prostitution is their only means of support.”

“Because they’re so desperate,” Marston interrupted. “Then some social case worker feels sorry for them and recommends rehabilitation over cube time…please.”

“She’s our best shot in terms of witnesses. You hear what those two assholes ‘Rowdy’ Rodney and Dwayne Carlos did?”

“How are those two still Judges?”

“You’ll love this one. Those two idiots were responsible for booking those two junkies we found at the _Skid Row_ murder. Had I know they were handling intake that night, I would’ve just done it myself. Guess the junkies mouthed off or something pissed those two off. The two Judges beat both junkies to death with their daysticks.”

“Fuck our investigation right?”

“So I guess I’m taking point on this one, Rhett?”

“I feel like you could catch an STD just looking at her. She’s all yours Roe.”

“You won’t catch anything meds can’t cure…it’ll just burn a little.”

“My ass is still burning…”

            With a cynical nod, Roebuck un-holstered his lawgiver and handed it Marston. Though the lawgiver had a palm scanner and could only be fired by the matched user, many Judges did not carry their sidearms into the interrogation room. Frequently, they would be interrogating suspects in a warped state of mind or ones simply desperate enough to make a grab for the lawgiver. The safest bet was to just remove the temptation.

            The door slammed shut behind Roebuck. The sound jolted the woman and awakened her. She peered at Roebuck through bloodshot and dilated eyes, clearly coming down from a narcotic high. Roebuck pulled the chair opposite the seated woman; it’s worn out metal legs screeching along the floor. The piercing screech disturbed Adams, who covered her ears with her hands. The Judge sat down across from her; he dropped his electronic tablet on the table and pushed it toward her. Adams looked down at the image on the screen. Her eyes squinted as they adjusted to clearly see. When they came into focus, she was appalled by the sight. It was slideshow of the coroner’s photos of Kimberly Smith. Each image appeared for several seconds before it switched to another. These were the official photographs that pertained to the case. The first few photographs were full body. Then the next sets focused on the different wounds inflicted. There were close up photos of her face, and then zoomed in on the gash across her throat. The next ones focused on the abdominal wounds. The killer had cut opened the abdomen, a deep, horizontal wound two along the Transpyloric plane. Adams diverted her attention, as she recoiled in disgust.

“The autopsy revealed the killer took both of her kidneys,” Roebuck said. “We found her eight days ago; the coroner believes she’s been dead for a month. What doesn’t sit right with me is the fact that your roommate has been gone for a month, and you’ve not filed a missing persons, contacted authorities, or even expressed the slighted amount of concern.”

           Adams began to cry. Her tears ran down her cheeks. Roebuck picked up the tablet and leaned back in his chair. He put his feet up on the table; his combat boots crossed one over the other. With the tablet in hand, he began to flip through the graphic images as someone would casually read in a relaxed position.

“This lack of concern over your roommate is alarming to say the least,” Roebuck started. “We did a social media sweep of both you and your roommate’s profiles; it seems like you two were best of friends. Is there something you are not telling me? I can always add a contempt charge; withholding information during an investigation is a serious offense.”

“She…she was seeing this guy,” Adams said, as she choked through her tears.

“This guy have a name? Stanley Bren?”

“Are you fuckin’ serious!?! That pervert, no fuckin’ way!”

            Adams was sickened by the mention of Bren’s name, her face expressed the abhorrence. Bren was well known amongst all the prostitutes in the surrounding Sectors. He traveled often and frequented multiple girls in the course of one night. This piqued Roebuck’s curiosity.

“What can you tell me about the guy Kimberly saw?” Roebuck asked. “Can you describe him? Do you know where they met? How long were they seeing each other?”

            There was a long, silent pause. Adams did not look at Roebuck. Instead, she just focused on the floor next to her chair. The seriousness of her situation sunk in as did the acceptance of her roommate’s murder.

“He showed up about a week before she went missing,” Adams spoke in a melancholic tone. “I guess she met him one night on the street, ya know, working.”

“Go on,” Roebuck said.

“Well, she comes home one night all excited right. She’s going on about how she spent the whole night with this one guy, paid her a thousand creds for the whole night. You’re fuckin’ kidding me right!? A thousand creds. Said they didn’t even fuck, he just took her to a restaurant, let her choose the place. Said they spent the whole night talking or some shit.”

“Do you know which restaurant?”

“How should I know, I wasn’t there.”

“Well did she have a favorite place?” Roebuck inquired, his patience tried.

“Yeah, me and her always ate at the _Waffle Casa_. She’d want a guy to take her there. You know, the one by the _283 Medical Center_.”

“How often did they see each other before her disappearance?”

“She was seein’ that fool just about every night that whole week. I don’t think she turned on _trick_ that whole week. She’d get home in the morning just talking about her night with this guy, always with a handful of cash, didn’t know how much total he gave her. I remember she kept sayin’ he was gonna get her out, make a new life for her.”

“So, he wanted to get her out of this life?”

“I heard too many stories of some _John_ fallin’ for a hooker, then weaving some half ass story about how he’s gonna save her and provide for her and give her a better life.”

“You two have a pimp this guy would have to contend with?”

“Hell no! We don’t need no pimp, we’re independent businesswomen!”

“Alright fair enough, you ever meet the guy she was seeing?”

“Not once. Never saw no pictures neither, could be she was making the whole thing, but the money she brought in.”

“Tell me about the night she didn’t come home.”

“I get in after a long night. I was pissed off. Had a fuckin’ _John_ run out without paying, and I wasn’t feeling well to begin with. Tell you the truth; I think it was something I ate earlier in the day…”

“Can you just cut to the fucking point,” Roebuck interrupted in a harsh voice.

“Woah calm down,” said Adams. “I was just gettin’ there.”

“Well get there.”

“I come back to the apt and all her stuff, what little she had, was all gone. She left a note saying she was going off to live with as she put it, her ‘gentleman’ and that we should stay in touch. I thought good riddance.”

“And that’s it?”

“Don’t know what else there is to tell, Judge.”

            Roebuck stood up and pushed the chair in. He quickly headed to the door and waited a fraction of a second as Marston unlocked it. As the distinctive security unlock buzz sounded, Roebuck opened the door and entered the observation room. There was a look of contentment on his face. The closest thing to joy he experienced nowadays. The thought of being on the trail of the killer brightened his mood. Marston held Roebuck’s lawgiver and helmet in hand. Roebuck holstered his sidearm and put on his helmet. He and Marston both nodded. They exited the observation room. Azarola was left in charge of Adams.    

_Waffle Casa_ , Sector 283, 23 November

2357 hours:

“So did you see him or not?” Roebuck asked, infuriated.

            He held up a profile picture of Kimberly Smith on his electronic tablet. It was the most recent image of Smith, before her death. The night manager did not seem to recognize Smith, nor could he identify a male companion. Roebuck was losing his patience. The _Waffle Casa_ had security cameras, but if there was no incident the footage was just copied over to save hard drive storage. Most of the interview involved the night manager shrugging his shoulders.

            The two Judges had been there for hours. They interviewed most of the staff that worked nights, and learned nothing. Not one employee could identify the man, let alone Smith. The employees of the _Waffle Casa_ were all the same, young and already burned out. Their brains fried from excessive drug use. They were more of a nuisance than a lead in the investigation. Marston waited in the parking lot, next to their lawmasters, as Roebuck finished with the last night manager.

“You ever think that pross was fucking with you, Roe?” Marston said as Roebuck exited the _Waffle Casa_.

“Following up on a legitimate lead,” Roebuck answered.

“Following a lead or wasting our fucking time?”

            The interviews had been long and fruitless, tempers ran short. Roebuck could tell through the entire time, Marston was not taking the questioning seriously. This had him furious. Marston was annoyed that they had come out here on the world of less than reputable individual. He believed it to be a futile pursuit.   

“I got you off of bullshit desk duty for this detail,” Roebuck said, angered. “If you don’t have time for this shit, I can always send you back to Eddington; have him make you suck his cock.”

“Why is this case so fucking important?” Marston fired back. “Since when did you start giving a shit about these people? Grossman’s playing you for a fucking fool, giving you all these resources. You’re the star of her show, a nice performance to shut up the media. Why should we even give a fuck?”

            Roebuck was incensed and finally lost control. With a hard right hook, he punched Marston square in the jaw. Marston took a step back, a bit dazed. In no time at all he swung back and caught Roebuck on the left cheek, near the eye. The two grappled briefly, each trying to throw the other to the ground. Several hard punches were exchanged between the two. Roebuck threw a punch which broke Marston’s nose. Marston retaliated; he got his left arm around Roebuck and held tightly. He then started to punch Roebuck several times in the chest. Roebuck fell to the ground. The blows landed in the part of his chest where the bullet wound was located. The severe chest pains had returned and it was excruciating.

Marston realized the seriousness of the punches. He knelt down at once and helped Roebuck to sit up. The two sat next to each other on the curb. Their faces started to swell, blood flowed from the wounds. It covered their fists and their jackets. At the moment, their first reaction was to laugh. The animosity between them disappeared.

“You’re…getting slow…in your punches…old man,” Roebuck said, with some difficulty.

“You serious, Roe?” said Marston, holding his broken nose. “I kicked your ass good.”

            Roebuck slumped forward a bit, as he clutched his chest. Marston pulled a flask from his pants pocket and untwisted the cap. He offered it to Roebuck, who refused. After a shrug of the shoulders, Marston took a long swig.

“So…you do drink on duty…sometimes…you asshole,” Roebuck managed.

“Some situations merit it,” said Marston. “Chest still bothering you?”

“It comes…and goes.”

“Hey man if it’ll help, I heard from an old buddy of mine I used to work narco with. He’s got a contact with an out of work doctor in Sector 213. Guy will write you a script, no questions. You can avoid Justice Department med services.”

“I might…take you up on it.”

            Roebuck paused momentarily. He stared upwards at the towering Mega-Blocks that climbed endlessly towards the heavens. The Blocks were packed so closely together he could not see the night sky above. In place of stars were the illuminated windows and neon signs, with the occasional letter out. He became lost in the count, tens of thousands in these few Blocks, hundreds of thousands in the surrounding, and millions beyond that, hundreds of millions. Here he was, Judge Roebuck, trying to catch one person out of all of it. The contemplation was interrupted by a nudge to his arm.

“How are we going to explain our sorry state of affairs to the chief?” Marston joked, as he rubbed his face with a now bloodstained cloth.

“Can’t be hard to find…a few junkies in this part,” Roebuck answered. “We rough them up good…sentence them…call in the pat wagon…and say they were sustained…in the course of duty.”

“Works for me.”

 

***

 

Sector 288, 25 November

0445 hours:

            Roebuck felt rather positive this morning as he stood on the sidewalk, a hot synthi-caf warmed his hands. A day prior, he had visited the doctor and obtained a “prescription” for pain medication. The pills seemed to be doing the trick with his chest pains. His mood seemed brighter than usual as he stared down at the badly bludgeoned body that slumped over the curb.

An inside source leaked information to the press about the prime suspect in the fingernail murders. The _NMMS_ quickly sprang into action and posted Stanley Bren’s picture and description over every media outlet they owned. The press dubbed him “Bren the Butcher” and exaggerated just about every detail about the murders, even the body count. They warned that he was on the loose, about to kill again, and called for action. A frenzied crowd broke into his apartment and ransacked it. This action forced Bren to hide from the vindictive mob. The Justice Department urged Bren to turn himself in. When he did not, the press took that as a sign of his guilt and played it up. Mobs took to the streets at night and attacked any man that solicited prostitutes and matched Bren’s description. One of the mob’s targets, who was severely beaten, was not even of the same ethnicity as Bren. The hysteria forced most folks off of the streets at night. The only citizens on the streets after dark were the so called “vigilance committees.” These were mobs that took it upon themselves to organize into neighborhood watch units. Their presence, and paranoia, convinced everyone to stay inside.

The deceased that lay before Roebuck was the first fatal victim of the mob’s wrath. Usually, they would assault the mistaken target before bringing them to a Sector House for formal arrest. The members of the mob would conveniently forget how their victim sustained their injuries. Fearing retribution, the victims declined to press assault charges.

“Great day huh pal!?” Marston said as he slapped Roebuck on the shoulder.

“Mob got a little carried away?” Roebuck asked rhetorically.

“Name’s Stephen Brent, about a foot shorter than Mr. Bren, about ten years older, twenty pounds heavier, yep I’d say the mob was onto something here.”

“Chief is supposed to hold a briefing around eight. Wants to calm all the citizens down, remind them we enforce the law.”

“Shit I hear ya, don’t want to find myself on the unemployment roll.”

            Roebuck and Marston laughed as the bloodied body of Stephen Brent was fitted into a body bag. The medical personnel raised the bag onto a stretcher and prepared to load it into a meat wagon.

“So what’s your day look like?” Marston asked.

“More fucking interviews,” said Roebuck. “We talked to just about every hooker in this and surrounding Sectors, nothing. Most deny knowing the victims, others say they saw Bren.”

“How fucking difficult is this, Roe!? Clearly Bren is your guy, the fact that he’s run off only proves his guilt. And don’t be going on about that _Waffle Casa_ gentleman nonsense, because that’s what it is.”

“He’s run off because the media created a witch hunt for him. And that was a viable lead.”

“My right jab will have to disagree with you on that one.”

            The doors to the meat wagon slammed shut. The paramedics walked to the front cab and climbed in. A Street Judge on crowd control started to push the few bystanders out of the way to clear a path for the vehicle.

 

***

 

Cloris Leachman Block, Sector 288, 29 November

1630 hours:

            A contingent of five lawmasters came to an abrupt stop in front of the Block. They did not have their lights and sirens on, an effort minimize their arrival. However, the arrival of five Judges at a Block quickly spread. The group was led there by Judge Roebuck, along with rookie, Azarola, and Judge Marston. Chief Grossman assigned Judges Gischler and Dazo to assist Roebuck in this apprehension. Roebuck’s investigation exhausted most of its leads and focused on Bren, on the insistence of the Sector Chief.

It had been almost half an hour since an ATM identified Bren in the _Cloris Leachman Block._ This was the first time since the media “witch hunt” began that he surfaced. The ATM recorded he withdrew of 2300 credits, all he had in the account. The camera on the ATM captured his image and a recognition program made a positive identification. Control immediately contacted Roebuck and sent him to the address. Now he and his detail dismounted their bikes in front of the Block. They had to move quickly before the mob or, worse, the media learned of their arrival.

The five walked through the large entrance into the Block’s atrium. Gischler broke away from the group and headed for the Block’s control room to check the security feed. The rest made for the lift as Bren was spotted on the one hundred and twenty-second floor. There was a lift that chimed as its doors opened; a citizen was about to board. Marston raced ahead of the other Judges to seize the civilian. He threw the man to the ground and forcefully reserved the cab for judicial business.

“Well fuck you too Judge,” the man said as he sat undignified on the floor.

“That’s thirty days for contempt, asshole!” Marston snapped as he jammed the end of his daystick into the man’s shoulder.

            The man sat quietly and offered no further resistance. Marston turned and was the last one to board the lift. Azarola entered ‘122’ on the control panel. The cab raced upwards as it headed to its destination. Judge Dazo leaned against the back corner of the cab, his arms crossed and his head down. Marston partially unzipped his Kevlar jacket and reached inside to retrieve something from the breast pocket of his shirt. When his hand appeared, he gripped a cigar. Casually, Marston pulled an old style flip top lighter from his pants pocket.

“You can’t smoke that in here,” Azarola turned and said.

“Gischler, could you please disable the smoke alarm,” Marston said over the radio.

“ _I can, but only if there’s one of those for me,_ ” Gischler replied.

“You got a deal.”

            Azarola was a bit taken aback by Marston’s brazen antics. Marston did not even notice as he bit the end off of the cigar and spit it on the ground. He rolled the flint wheel and lit his cigar and began to smoke. A concerned Azarola turned to Roebuck, who only shook his head. Roebuck was accustomed to Marston’s behavior. The lift passed the one hundredth floor.

“Alright everyone,” Roebuck said. “Weapons check.”

            All four of the Judges in the lift un-holstered their lawgivers and began to inspect them. They each, in various stages, pressed the magazine release to check the cartridges. Then, the magazines were inserted. A small screen on the side of the lawgiver displayed each weapon was ready. The Judges then formed into a tactical deployment with Roebuck and Azarola in the front, Marston and Dazo behind. When the doors opened, Roebuck would turn right to cover that flank while Azarola would do the same for the left. Marston would step forward to cover the front. Dazo was the reserve; he would fill in if a Judge was hit.

            The numbers on the lift slowly ticked, 120…121…and finally, 122. The four Judges stood ready to deploy and move. They did not know what to expect, maybe a cornered Bren prepared a last stand. The lift chimed and doors slid open. The Judges each moved quickly to their tactical position. They deployed onto a large landing that looked out into the open atrium in the center of the block. There was no opposition; rather several perplexed citizens looked on. The citizens realized four Judges meant trouble and they fled the landing towards their apartments.

“ _Checked the security footage,_ ” Gischler said over the radio. “ _I got him tracked to a single room rental operation on the west quadrant. He met with a clerk and looks like he rented a room._ ”

“Copy that, we’re moving!” Roebuck said to Gischler.

            The entire one hundred and twenty-second floor of the _Block’s_ western quadrant was actually a cheap hotel. Rooms there could be rented by the hour, the day, or the month. The hotel was the sleazy operation that attracted many suspicious and criminal elements. After they quickly navigated several hallways, the Judges arrived at the hotel’s office. The office was small, just enough room for the four Judges to cram inside. The walls were cracked and stained; there was a putrid smell that the clerk seemed oblivious to. The clerk was a short, pudgy individual, with uneven patches of facial hair and a receding hairline. He wore a once white wife beater that was now a faded tan color with large stains all over. It was also clear it had been a long time since he last showered.

“This guy checked in about twenty to thirty minutes ago, where is he?” Roebuck said as he held up a mug shot of Bren.

“A lot of people checked in between then and now,” the clerk cleverly remarked.

“You being smart with me asshole!?” Roebuck’s tone changed significantly.

            Roebuck nodded to Marston and Dazo, each walked over to the clerk’s side of the counter. Dazo pulled out his daystick and hit the clerk over the back. The clerk fell forward onto the counter and Dazo held the daystick over the man’s neck to keep him down. Marston grabbed the man’s right wrist and held it firmly. Roebuck looked around the room and spotted a partially opened tool box. From the tool box, he pulled out an old ball-peen hammer. The clerk struggled against the Judges that held him down, but in vain. Roebuck walked up to the clerk with the hammer in hand.

“Wait…wait, please I’ll tell you,” the clerk pleaded. “Yeah I saw him, he rented a room. Paid me in cash for three months. Room 24E, I swear it’s him!”

“I thank you for your cooperation,” Roebuck said. “But one thing I can’t stand is a smartass.”

            The hammer collided with the clerk’s hand as Roebuck brought it down with all his might. The clerk screamed in pain as the bones cracked. Azarola turned away, disgusted and appalled. Dazo and Marston released the clerk and let him fall to the ground. The wounded man curled into a fetal position as he cradled his broken hand. Dazo gave the injured clerk a swift kick in the back as he stepped over the man. Roebuck could tell Azarola did not approve of their treatment of the clerk.

“Rookie,” Roebuck said to her. “This man withheld evidence. Read him the charge and pass sentencing.”

            Azarola stood there, stunned at what had just transpired. She was unable to speak or act. Roebuck snapped at Azarola, to get her attention.

“The charges, rookie, read him the charges and pass a sentence,” he said.

“Uh…for obstructing…justice,” Azarola stumbled.

“We haven’t all day dear,” Marston added.

“Three years for obstruction,” she said.

“Good,” said Roebuck. “Now let’s go pick up Bren.”

            The four stepped out of the office. The western quadrant was divided into five parallel hallways that ran outward from the atrium. There were twenty-four rooms to a hallway, with twelve on each side. The odd numbered rooms were on the right and evens on the left. The hallways were each labeled A, B, C, D, and E. The room that Bren checked into was at the end of the fifth hallway. Every eight rooms, there was a passage that connected the hallways. Gischler had already sent Roebuck and the others a layout of this floor. They knew they had Bren trapped with no escape route. The office was at the beginning of “A” hallway. The four started down a side corridor to reach “E” hallway. Azarola was next to Roebuck and behind Dazo and Marston. She turned to her training Judge to confront him about the clerk as they walked.

“Was it really necessary you break that man’s hand?” Azarola asked.

“This really isn’t the best time rookie,” Roebuck answered.

“It doesn’t seem right. I thought we were Judges of the law, not thugs with badges.”

“We can have this philosophical debate later. Focus on the task at hand!”

            Azarola held back further protest as the four rounded a corner. It was a straight hallway that led directly to Bren’s room at the end. This hallway was poorly lit and dirty. The concrete walls were chipped and stained, covered in graffiti. Stacked against the walls and strew in the middle of the hallway were discarded and destroyed pieces furniture. Old mattresses, desks, chairs, bed frames, couches, refrigerators, ovens, and other appliances all obstructed the hall. The four Judges navigated the debris. Azarola leaned forward and grabbed hold of a headboard that blocked her path.

“Do we cite for a debris violation?” the Rookie inquired as she tossed the headboard out of her way. “This is a fire hazard, right?”

“If you want to be neck deep in forms and citations,” Marston turned and remarked. “You cite the fucks, and then you have to come back thirty days later to make sure they moved their shit.”

“Rookie, I’ll tell you why we don’t write citations for this later! “Roebuck said. “But for now, stay focused.”

            Marston turned forward again, he grunted and continued onward. The four continued down the hallway and closer to the room Bren had rented. The overhead tubular lights occasionally flickered. They were halfway down the hallway, when a door opened at the end. It was the door to room 24E, Bren’s room. Bren stepped out into the hallway and was about to shut the door behind him, when he looked up. He saw the four Judges.

“FREEZE MOTHER FUCKER!” Marston shouted as he raised his lawgiver.

            Bren at the same moment dove back into his apartment. At sight of Bren escaping back into his apartment, Marston opened fire. Two shots were fired; both missed Bren as they embedded into the doorframe.

“We need him alive, asshole!” Roebuck said as he grabbed Marston by the shoulder.

“Jovis Grud Roe!” Marston started. “We end this _Bren the Butcher_ shit tonight. It’ll make shit so much easier on us if he doesn’t go on breathing.”

            Marston shrugged off Roebuck and charged forward, with Dazo close behind. The door to room 3E, behind the Judges opened. A citizen stepped out into the hallway.

“What the hell is all this noise?” the citizen called out.

            Other doors behind the Judges opened as curious onlookers sought to investigate the shots. Roebuck glanced to Azarola.

“Get these people back into their rooms,” Roebuck ordered.

            Azarola nodded and made her way toward to citizens. Roebuck turned to catch up with Marston and Dazo, who were already at the door to Bren’s room. Marston was in cover against the wall to left of the door. Dazo was directly in front of the door. The worn down doors we easily kicked in. The Judges in Sector 288 watched far too many action films and always tried to outdo each other about how epically they could kick in doors while on patrol. Earlier, before this raid, Dazo won the right. He now stepped back; wound himself up for the kick. Suddenly, the door flew open. Just inside the doorway stood Bren, and in his hand a Kalashnikov 147. An eternity seemed to pass in the spilt second Dazo looked down the barrel of the assault rifle. Bren opened fire at point blank range on fully automatic. At that proximity, the high powered rounds easily defeated Dazo’s Kevlar jacket. His body jerked violently as each round struck. Dazo was dead before he hit the ground. The automatic fire sent the citizens into a panic. They screamed as some rushed back into their rooms, while others ran into the hallway. Azarola’s orders to remain calm were drowned out in the chaos. Marston watched on in shock as the lifeless Dazo lay on the floor, the blood pooled under the corpse. The firing had ceased as Bren expended all the ammunition in his magazine. Marston took advantage of the lull and swung his lawgiver around the corner of the doorframe. He leaned, just enough to expose of his body to aim, and fired several times. The shots fired from Marston’s lawgiver, the ignition pushed the slide back and the spring pulled it forward to chamber another round, all in an intricate mechanical ballet.

            There was a scream from inside the doorway. Bren had been struck in the abdomen and bled profusely. He was on the ground, screaming from the wound as he fumbled with a fresh magazine for his assault rifle. Bren was in too much pain to successfully reload. Marston stepped around the doorframe and entered the room. The room was small, standard hotel type, dimly lit, no windows. To Marston’s right was a small bathroom, with grimy tiles and a backed up sink. Bren had abandoned his attempts to reload the assault rifle and pulled himself away from Marston toward the single bed. There was a trail of smeared blood on the carpet, left from Bren. Marston stood over Bren and raised his lawgiver. He was calm, emotionless, as he pointed his weapon straight at Bren. Roebuck had raced as quickly as he could to assist. Now, he stood in the doorway and saw Marston, weapon pointed at Bren.

“Rhett!” Roebuck call out.

            It was too late, Marston fired. The round fired from Marston’s lawgiver struck Bren in his forehead. Bits of Bren’s skull and brain matter landed on the floor as the round blew apart the back portion of his head. Bren slumped back onto the carpet.

“What the FUCK Rhett!?” Roebuck shouted.

“What!?!” Marston replied, with a somewhat sarcastic inquisitive look upon his face as he holstered his weapon. “He killed one of our own, bastard got what he deserved.”

            Roebuck had nothing to say. He turned to Dazo, Roebuck saw the shooting and knew there was no way it was survivable. There was Azarola, kneeling next to the body. She had Dazo’s jacket unzipped, her hands placed on his chest as she frantically administered CPR. With every chest compression, a stream of blood flowed from Dazo’s mouth. Azarola either did not know or did not accept the fact that Dazo was dead, that her effort was in vain. She had removed her combat gloves before she had started. Now, her fingers were stained his Dazo’s blood, that seeped out from the bullet wounds. Marston and Roebuck stepped nearer to Dazo’s body. They bent down to Azarola, seized her by the arms and tried to pull her up and away from the body. Azarola resisted, wrestled herself free and resumed her futile resuscitation efforts. She was possessed by some force, determined to bring back Dazo. Roebuck and Marston realized they could not stop Azarola, so they let her continue. Marston stepped back from the scene to report the casualties to Control.

            The street in front of the Block was a sight of organized pandemonium. Justice Department and other emergency vehicles blocked the road. The media, acting more on a leak in Sector House than a lead, broke the story about Bren. A large crowd of onlookers appeared to catch glimpse of the action. The arrival prompted the deployment of additional Judges to the scene, just to keep the bystanders out of the cordon. Azarola sat alone on a bench next to the Block’s entrance. Her head was lowered as she stared at her helmet she held in her hands. All around her Judges moved back and forth, assembling the collapsible crowd barricades and directing the excessive number of emergency vehicles that responded to the scene. A large gathering of reports pushed their way through the crowd and were up against the barricade nearest to the scene. They shouted and hollered, as they demanded a statement from the Justice Department or more information about Bren. The more enterprising reporters paid a few Judges for details and would discretely collect their facts. The medics exited the Block with two stretchers. The bodies they carried were draped in a heavy black sheet, completely covered. The stretchers were rolled to separate ambulances. Bren’s body was shoved in the vehicle, while Dazo’s was shown a solemn respect.

            Azarola glanced over her left shoulder. She saw Eddington shouting, ranting, waving his arms about, all directed at Roebuck. Only bits and pieces of what Eddington said could be made out, though the gist was the usual unpleasantness he afforded Roebuck. Roebuck stood his ground quietly, his helmet tucked firmly under his right arm. This time Roebuck offered no wise remark to Eddington, he simply rolled his eyes and appeared not to pay attention. After had thoroughly exhausted himself, Eddington stormed away to direct his frustrations elsewhere. Roebuck made his way over to the bench, and sat down next to Azarola.

“What was that about?” Azarola asked him.

“He’s been transferred,” Roebuck jokingly answered. “And wanted someone to share in his elation.”

“I don’t understand how you can make jokes,” She said in a depressed tone. “Especially after Dazo, one of our own is killed, right in front of us.”  

“Here’s a lesson you’ll learn in time,” Roebuck said to her, his mood transformed to a serious one. “In this line of work, you’re going to see a lot of your friends die. We made it out today, but tomorrow, who the hell knows? The academy teaches us the law, how to impartially administer the law, how to survive a combat scenario, but not how to live with the toll.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you Roebuck. You seem dedicated to the job and you actually could be a great Judge, yet you jeopardize everything with your drinking, the insubordination, fucking another guy’s wife, the excessive force. To me, you contradict everything you stand for.”

            Roebuck stared blankly ahead. He did not focus on anything in particular, just detached from everything around him.

“When I was in field training,” he started. “My FTJ was one of those perfect Judges, the real boy scout type. We all have our flaws, even good Judges do, but this guy, fucking immaculate. Every Gruddamn thing by the book, he didn’t laugh, didn’t joke, nothing, the perfect…robot.”

            Roebuck paused for a moment after the last part.

“So why are you telling me this?” Azarola inquired.

“It was my graduation from field training,” Roebuck continued. “I had become a full Judge and was excited. I went to see my FTJ to tell him the news…I found him in the Sector House’s dormitory, a gunshot wound took out the back half of his skull, self inflicted.”       

“Jovis Grud Roe, just stop!”

“The job will kill us…I guess I want to believe I’m making a difference, but in the end, we don’t. I can’t decide if I want to do something meaningful, or just stay alive.”

            After he stopped talking, Roebuck stood up. He walked away as he left Azarola seated on the bench.

 

***

 

Epilogue

           The street was dark, depressed; the buildings were abandoned and boarded up. A plume of steam rose from a manhole cover in the middle of the road. The asphalt was cracked and litter was strewn about or in piles. A solitary four door sedan idled next to the curb. It was a midrange model; the owner was not from the neighborhood. The windows of the sedan were fogged and it was difficult to make out the interior, to determine who was inside. The passenger door opened, a disheveled woman stepped out, as she counted the stack of earnings. Without a glance back, she slammed the car door and the vehicle sped away. She was alone on the street, but not fearful. It was her neighborhood and she knew the area well. He watched, unseen from the shadows in an alley, as she stuffed the creds into a small pocket book.

He felt confident this night; the investigation into his deeds had ended, solved in the eyes of the Justice Department. He knew who Bren was, knew his habits, his desires, but not the man, personally. But, he followed Bren. It was up to Bren to select the targets; of course, Bren had no knowledge of the significance. Bren finished his business and left. He then went to work.

Now, with his “recruiter” gone, he had to rethink his strategy. He could not leave bodies to be easily discovered, no, that thrill was over. He emerged from the shadows and approached the woman. It was their wicked profession that drove him to them. She turned and saw him approach.

“Hey. You lookin’ for a good time,” she said to him.

            He nodded, acknowledged her invitation. She took him by the hand and led him to a dark alley, between two of the buildings. To where they would be alright…    


End file.
